#hairs gettin a bit long for this and i need to invest in eye make up

[castleofshit]

Gonna have to install some curtains in this room or do this stuff at night in the future (con: get clowned on by roommates).

[marvelite624]

Is this a story from the world we know or just imagined to make it seem so? Either way, this is...

She sat half in, half out of the last rays of daylight which pierced the darkness to spite several panes of broken, dirty glass. There on the filthy floor, she did what she could to remain in the shadows of the old tool shed. Soon enough, pale shades of the moon would surround her in ambiance enough to chill the bone.

Nissa was not alone as she fondly recalled her day, uttering endearments to the delight of her new friend, held tightly upon her lap. He was a five and a half month old Redbone Coonhound named "Goody". He sat, head tilting side to side, wide-eyed, invested in every syllable she spoke. Nissa began to fiddle with one of his large paws and he licked, and then playfully gnawed at her hand, ears flopping, so cute she had to laugh.

What was it Paulie had said? "Goody will protect you." Those had been his words earlier when he loaned his cherished pup to Nissa. The two had only just met, but it quickly became clear who needed him most.

She'd been picking wildflowers in the field next to her home when a voice from behind startled her, "Those goin' in a vase when you get 'em home?" She turned quickly to see a boy not much older than her, dressed in worn jeans, loose-fitting tee, and stained, white canvas hightops. His long brown hair was clean, but needed brushing in the worst way. He sported a small scar, passing through his left eyebrow, the kind that only served to accentuate his boyish good looks. Over his shoulder hung a quiver. In one hand he held a hunting bow which he lowered to his side as he patted the anxious ball of fur that tagged along.

"Oh, my heavens...you gave me such a fright!", Nissa sputtered nervously. "Didn't mean'ta, Missy. I hope you'll forgive me.", came the boy's reply. He noticed she seemed a tense bundle o' nerves as he shyly studied this sweet girl who looked, for all the world, like she might bolt and run at any moment. She was pale with freckles across her small, upturned nose. Hair like his mother's...strawberry red, which she wore in a single braid down her back. Her shirt was a pastel green plaid that, like her eyes, complimented her locks nicely. Tied at the waist, the shirt topped a pair of white Levi's and sandals. Nissa was quite tomboyish at first glance. She wore no make-up. She didn't need to.

"Name's Paulie, Missy an' I'm very pleased to meet you. I don't bite an' neither does my dog here. His name's Goody." The puppy hopped up barking as if to say hello in his own way, turned a circle or two and flopped down on his backside, panting. "That's a silly name for a dog, ain't it?", she suggested, giggling slightly. "I think it's a swell name for 'im. My pops gave 'im to me right before he left for the war. Said he'd help protect Maw an' me while he's away. My pops takes a medicine powder to make him feel better sometimes. For me, it's my dog what makes me feel better, so I named him after my pop's powders cause he's as good as any medicine."

"Well, that's sweet and it makes sense. You can stop calling me 'Missy' though, I'm 'Nissa' and very happy to meet you too." She reached down to pet the pup as she spoke and was greeted with a heavy paw which she gladly shook. Paulie couldn't help but notice as she shook that paw, the three-quarter sleeve of her shirt rode up a bit revealing curious bruising on her arm. He realized they were impressions left by fingers, from a strong hand large enough to encircle her entire arm. The sight appalled him as it threw a damper on an otherwise pleasant encounter. Now he found himself scrutinizing every inch of Nissa that he could.

"So what's the bow for, Paulie?" He found it a fair question as they were strangers after all. He wondered if she was feeling in some way uncomfortable at the sight of it. "My pops was teaching me to hunt before he left. Small stuff mostly. Now, I'm showin' my dog. We're gettin' pretty good at it too, but I don't like to brag." Nissa listened intently as he spoke and Paulie hoped she wouldn't notice his eyes, investigating her further. She coughed softly, turning her head to one side as she covered her mouth politely. Sure enough, the bruising was in evidence on both arms now and disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt, similar markings all but faded. Paulie was growing angry, struggling not to let it show.

"Well, if you were planning to do any hunting here, don't let my daddy catch you. He don't fancy to strangers on his property. If he catches you...just for everybody's sake, do your hunting someplace else." He noticed a sudden lack of eye contact as she spoke of her daddy. Her right hand crossed in front of her to gently hold the left arm even as her gaze had dropped to the ground.

Hesitantly Paulie asked, "Is your daddy not a nice man, Nissa?" He hoped the question wouldn't upset her. "Why do you ask that? Of course he's nice! He just...well, he just has a bad temper and can't help himself sometimes. When he drinks...he thinks nobody loves him an' it makes him hate everything. Sometimes I think he regrets marrying my momma an' don't want to be stuck with us anymore." "So, he's not your real daddy then?" "Cole? Oh,no. My real dad passed into the arms of the Lord a few years ago. He left me an' Mom the house and a patch of land...a couple of horses too, Emily and old Levi, but Cole sold them. He said the feed was way too expensive. He did a lot of things I didn't like. Sure wish he hadn't taken away all o' my daddy's pictures like he did. I can barely remember his face these days. If it wasn't for the little one I keep hidden..."

"You have a picture hidden?" "Yeah, I keep it in the old shed at the edge of the woods. Noone ever goes there but me. You want to see my real daddy? C'mon, I'll show you!" With a new-found excitement, she ran past Paulie, wildflowers still gripped in one hand, giggling. Goody hopped up into a quick gallop, one sharp bark signaling the boy should follow. The shed wasn't very far, he could make it out just inside the woods across the field.

When Paulie reached the dilapidated, old shed, Nissa was bent over, hands on her knees huffing and puffing as she looked to the straw-covered earth beneath her. A slight turn of her head then toward the boy as he stopped nearby, "Ya know, for the outdoorsy, adventurous type, Paulie... you run like a girl." Her snarky grin was adorable, the boy thought.

"Yep, ya beat me fair and square dit'n ya." As he spoke, Goody, sitting slightly behind Nissa scratching his neck with a very busy hind paw, looked to Paulie with an inquisitive glare and issued a suspicious whimper. Paulie let go a quick gasp raising a finger to his lips to shush the mut. The wink which followed went totally unnoticed by the young miss. "I got bested by a girl! How will I ever live with myself?" Goody shook his flopping ears and just lay down. Truth is, the boy could have overtaken her at any time but, being the chivalrous gentleman his momma had taught him to be, he let her claim this little victory.

"So what'cha got here? Some secret hideaway?" "Sorta, but the way it sticks out like a sore thumb hardly makes it secret. Me coming here sometimes though, that, I try to keep to myself." She moved into the old rat trap with a confidence that surprised her new friend. The interior smelled of dead wood and decay. It was dank and dusty with very little light for maneuvering. Several random planks missing from the floor gave the girl no pause to her advance. It was obvious she'd been here many times before.

There was a row of counters across the back wall which rounded the corner to continue partially down one side. The opposite wall was bare except for some rusted chain hanging haphazardly. Paulie's eyes began to adjust enough to make out the many old, near useless tools strewn around the room as well as the roof in one corner barely fighting a long overdue collapse.

"You be careful now, Nissa! This place don't look none too safe." The girl shrugged as she squatted onto one knee, reaching under a shelf below the sagging countertop. Paulie leaned side to side, neck stretched trying to see what she was up to. "Here we go!" Her arm returned holding a ragged cigar box. She blew the dust from the top and lifted the lid. Inside lay a solitary black and white photograph.

She raised the picture delicately to her heart. Eyes closed, she whispered something the boy couldn't quite hear. Paulie waited patiently for what seemed a long time before offering, "You don't have to show me if you don't want to. It's okay if you changed your mind..." "No, no. I was just makin' sure he doesn't mind."

She passed her little treasure to him anxiously, squirming a bit as she did. The picture was of a man, wearing a rancher's work attire. He stood between two horses holding their reigns. On the back of one of the horses sat a very young girl, best guess, not too long out of diapers. Both of their faces sported the biggest smiles they could possibly manage. One of Nissa's happiest moments no doubt, preserved forever.

"Now, this is worth holdin' onto. Keep it hidden, Nissa. Don't let him take this one away from you too. Ever! He was very happy to have you in his life, just look at those faces." "Momma would've been in there with us, but she was taking the picture. I remember, she was all smiles that day, too. I miss him so much, Paulie, sometimes I can feel my heart ache. I tried for the longest time to remember his voice," her eyes welled as she spoke the words, "but it's faded. Left me, same as he did. If it weren't for this picture, I don't think..."

Suddenly, from somewhere across the field, a voice interrupted, "Nissy! Where you at?", as a look of dire concern crossed the girl's face. The words were slurred as, once again he called out, "Nit! Don't tick me off!". An almost wicked laughter followed. Her gaze had snapped to the door upon first hearing Cole's voice. He was coming. Nissa turned quickly to her new friend, "You gotta go! Gotta leave, now!" "But, I think I should..." "No, you don't know him like I do...please, for me, Paulie!" He lingered just long enough to whisper something to Goody and utter those four well-remembered words to her, "Goody will protect you." Paulie turned and darted from the shed as quickly as he could manage. The pup whined softly, but made no attempt to move from her side.

The reverie of recent events dissolved now. She'd sat quietly long enough to let her believe Cole had lost interest, given up. His pale shadow slowly stretching headlong into the room, and comment relieved her of that notion, "Heeere you are, my li'l nit. You got some 'splainin' to dooo." Goody felt an instant dislike for this obviously besotted menace, evidenced by the low growl that Nissa tried to cover, moving the guarded animal to the side.

She stood, wiping the traces of dirt and straw from her hands. "So, who was that I shaw running away? Got'choo a boyfriend, do ya?". "No, Cole, we was just...". "Oh, 'Cole' is it now? What happen'na 'Daddy'? You done got too big for 'Daddy'? Lookin' for boyfriends to teach you the ways of a man?

He stood there in front of her, teetering slightly, his eyes red and glassy as all inner light continued to fade. Her mother had chosen him largely based on his good looks. His dishwater blonde hair and prominent jaw, highlighted with killer blue eyes and perfect pearly whites, led her to believe she'd hit the jackpot. The nearly copper-colored hair across his chest and arms was a bonus for her, too. She'd begun calling him "wooly" and loved that he sported a mustache that "tickled her so much". There he was, in denim coveralls, no shirt, and what was obviously a pint of alcohol in his right pocket. He was sweating heavily, and the smell of old liquor hung in the air.

"Lookin' for some leshons are we? Well, the thingsh I can teach...letsh jus' say, Momma ain't complainin'. You been needin' nis a while now. Cole gonna show ya 'bout life. C'mere, Nit." "Stop calling me that!", her voice was raised louder than she'd intended. He reacted as expected. The back of his right hand lashed out across her cheek. She was staggered backward into the old countertop. Goody bravely rushed forward, howling, to sink his teeth into the man's leg. Cole shook and tried to loosen the pup's grip to no avail. Reaching out and sweeping the counter, he managed to find an old claw hammer. Firmly gripped, he brought the rusted tool down onto the little soldier's skull. A pitiful yelp accompanied the crunch that ended the brief battle. Cole immediately kicked the puppy away, sending him bouncing, then sliding to a halt against the wall just to left of the door.

Nissa raised her fists and began pounding at him. Screaming, crying, defenseless...he found it all very amusing, looking down at her. "Cole likes it rough, girlie...", he said as he reached to undo a hook on his coveralls, "you'll see."

Before that strap had finished its fall, there was a low whistle and rush of air. Confused by the sound, Nissa ceased her struggle. Cole dropped to his knees, finding himself suddenly face-to-face with the child he'd been charged to raise as his own, to protect and nurture selflessly. All the ways he'd failed at that must have crossed his mind as he knelt there, a perverse grin still mocking the girl, unable to move. One last wet gasp drew her attention down. Down to the point protruding from his throat. A mixture of blood and saliva bubbling at the edges. Cole fell sideways then.

Aghast, Nissa lifted her hands to her mouth. She wanted so badly to scream, but nothing came. She saw poor Goody against the wall, "Goody? Good boy?", and realized she'd gone numb. Had she spoken? Had she wanted to?Before her mind could even begin to process all these horrors, Paulie stepped back into the shed, bow still drawn and aimed.

"This ain't none'o your doin', Nissa. None of it, your fault...mine neither. He brung it on himself, had it comin'." Still unable to share a coherent thought, she rapidly nodded her head, signaling her agreement. We got work to do now...plans to make. He gently lifted his quieted boy into his arms and began to tell her what she needed to do. As they spoke, she stroked Goody's side. It began to make sense, all of it. Finished, Nissa retrieved her treasure-bearing box and rose to leave. She was surprised to find that Paulie had already done so. Nissa would see him once more before putting this behind her, once and then, perhaps never again.

Many seasons have come and gone. Nissa, now a young woman, somewhere in her mid-twenties, has blossomed and grown into a proper lady, the apple of all the young men's eyes. She never married for reasons "most personal and private", so she says. Yet, she has a recurring dream of a man lifting her high overhead as he spins her round and round before placing her atop her favorite horse. That smile and the scar slicing through his left brow hold her captive until she wakes to a mist she can't quite grasp. This dream she mentions to none. The only tragedy to alter the course of her life since childhood was Momma having a stroke a few years back and much of her time is spent providing desperately needed care to her.

She sits on the porch every day, occasionally revisiting "the plan" and how small her role had actually been. Paulie had told her to give him what time he needed, but when she heard his whistling, and lame, impersonation of a Robin...or was it a Bluejay...no matter, that was her cue to distract her mom so he could slip into Cole's truck and drive it away, carrying some of his clothes and personal items Nissa had used the time to sneak out with. She'd watched through a window as he slipped behind the wheel and disappeared.

"Where is that crazy man going now? Supper's almost done and I was about to set the table. Made his favorite, too. Did he say anything to you, honey?" "Nope. He'll probly be right back though. Outta smokes or somethin', don't fret. I'll set the table for us." But Nissa knew.

Cole was gone without a trace. No sign of him at the shed the next day. Paulie had been thorough in dealing with what remained. What she didn't know was that Paulie's plan was to include him driving away for good. To this day, she's never seen him again.

She'd made a life for herself here. Got some horses. 'Socrates', 'DeMilo', and 'Sam', named for her father. Nissa always made time for them, always made time for the ones she loved. She managed to spare a little time for herself, too. Like I said, she would sit on her porch every day, but not just to sit. She was waiting.

Every so often, a vehicle would stop at the end of her lengthy drive, just off the highway. It changed over the years, of course, so many times, she gave up keeping track. Never knew what might show up next. It would just sit there. At first, it was a bit creepy. Each time she'd head down the drive, the engine would crank and the vehicle would pull away, leaving her bewildered, wondering why.

After a while, Nissa had an inkling of what it could mean, but never dared hope. She kept her basket handy and walked the fields each time it appeared, almost always in the Spring when the wildflowers bloomed. Today would provide an unexpected surprise as, sure enough, there it was. A newer model truck for once. And this time she heard it. The distant call of an old, familiar friend. Oh, it wasn't him, but so similar as to conjure the memory of one pair of flopping ears and that relentless tongue lapping at her face.

She closed her eyes, allowing her head to drift backward. She felt the breeze on her cheeks and a joy coaxed from a cherished memory filled her heart. The warm scent of wildflowers also like the summons of an old friend wafted into range. She stood as she reached for her basket and waved at the truck slowly pulling out of sight.

Nissa had crisscrossed these fields so often, she could have made the trip blindfolded. From one fragrant patch to the next, she gathered as many as she could carry, being unerringly led to one particular spot, as always. She used the time to remember the cute young boy who'd startled her so with his brash introduction. The same boy who'd presented that brave little soldier to her so proudly. The one who'd let her win a footrace because he believed it was what she needed from him. Oh, she knew from the start, but let him have what she believed he'd needed from her. The boy who gave up what he valued most to...well, we know.

She looked down to begin placing her lovingly gathered cashe, and there, on a cross crafted from an old floor plank, were the words she'd read so many times before. Like the truck she'd just seen, the paint was new, even if the message was not:

"HERE LIES GOODY, MY TRUEST FRIEND. HE DONE HIS BEST AND EARNED HIS REST. MAY JESUS HOLD HIM IN THE END."

Sam began to neigh in the distance, another message she couldn't ignore. She had responsibilities. Momma and the boys for now, but maybe one day...maybe one day soon...she still waited for so much more.

Terry G. Nunley

[cognitosclowns]

TOUCH STARVED ALPHA-BETA IS EVERYTHING TO ME

AAAA STOP I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS FOR LITERAL CENTURIES SMNDSMDN

NSFT BELOW

GOD Y'ALL ARE GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO SCREAM ABOUT ALL MY TOUCH STARVED AB IDEAS. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULTS YOU BROUGHT THIS UPON YOURSELVES

HE IS SO FUCKING TOUCH STARVED ITS UNREAL

He doesn't even know its touch starvation either - its not a concept he associates to himself bc 'Something Something Im Above Needing Anything'

'why do you subconsiously wrap your arm around your stomach and rub your side as if someone was with you if you aren't touch starved, AB' one might say. The answer to that is Shut The Fuck Up >:((

JUST LITTLE THINGS <33 he'll get distracted and just start,, passively touching himself?? (not like that you HEATHENS, that comes later smdnsmd)

LIKE <3333 fiddling with his own hair?? Pressing his palm just under his neck, running his thumb along the collarbone?? Before he shuts himself down for the night, he places his hand on the opposite shoulder so that when he wakes up it Almost Feels Like Someones There??? </3 YEAH. YEAH HE'S TOUCH STARVED. TOUCH FAMISHED. TOUCH RAVENOUS. SMDNSMD.

LISTEN JESUS CHRIST THE FIRST TIME YOU,,, TOUCH HIM YOU CAN,, VISIBLY SEE THE RUSH OF ABSOLUTE BLISS.

It wasn't even anything big?? Like <33 Reagan finally let up and agreed to let you sit in his tube for an hour, and when you were sitting yourself down your leg pressed against his side and Oops Hes Instinctively Leaning In Because He Wants More But,, Also Doesn't Know How The Fuck To Ask For More???

LISTEN HE'S A STUBBORN BASTARD. VULNERABILITY = WEAKNESS AND HE CANT ACCEPT THE IDEA THAT,,,,,, HES ALLOWED TO FEEL THINGS AND ENJOY FEELING THEM.

GRKKRKGR <333 him laying on your chest??? Like he'd never ask but,,, he just slowly keeps gettin closer and closer and eventually you just wrap your arms around him and coax him into this half-cuddling, half-hugging position??

HE HESITATES FOR,, A SOLID MINUTE??? Like you can SEE him battling his pride bc,,, Oh No Vulnerability.

Coo out a little,, endearment or pet name though?

his whole body <33 completely slacks in this gorgeous relieved sigh. He shudders a bit here and there but,, <33 mostly he's still. He accepts his defeat with grace <33

he doesn't even start huffing or scowling?? Like,, His Yearning For Touch completely overrides his pride. <333 in this moment he's a hopeless romantic mess for you, and maybe that's okay <3

OH BABEY the first time you play with his hair is a religious experience. It looks like he's about to faint?? his eyes just,, instinctively close w/ this massive shudder. You might even catch a low moan or two, if you have nails <333

LISTENNNN <33 REAGAN SAID AN HOUR ONLY BUT <33333333 yea it ends up being most of the afternoon bc she peeked in on the security feed and... tbh shes never seen AB that happy, she's not gonna interrupt that.

<333 HE UNDERSTAND WHY MOVIES MAKE FIRST KISSES LOOK SO DRAMATIC BECAUSE HO-LY FUCK. YOU AUDIBLY HEAR SMTH INSIDE HIM SNAP FROM HOW FAST HIS FANS ARE GOING.

His shoulders and brows just,, raise and raise and raise at first?? It's like this full body Shock??

<33 he <333 he didnt <33 he didn't think they'd be so soft <3

 BUT LIKE THE MOMENT HE REGAINS BRAIN CELLS HE'S LEANING IN. TABLES TURNED.

he forgets you need to breathe bc hes so invested in it <333

like every time your head dips a little to catch your breath his head weaves down <333

EVEN WHEN YOU DO PULL BACK TO BREATHE, HIS LIPS ARE GONNA BE LIKE,, ON YOUR CHIN N BOTTOM LIP??? He breaks into smiles at random intervals just bc of how Dizzy With Love he feels??

<333333333333333 this man doesn't half-ass anything, especially not kissing <333 expect some <33 very long kissing sessions <333

GRRRKKRKR <333 ROBOTS <333 MEN <333 GNASHING OF TEETH.

HE <333 HEEEEE <333

IVE BROUGHT THIS UP AGAIN BUT LIKE <333 oh heavens just feeling your hands on his skin is enough to make him dizzy <33

running your hands along his back while he fucks you?? Or if you drape your arms around his shoulders while you ride him???? His eyes always unfocus a bit <333

LIKE <333 nah during sex he wants as much skin touching skin as possible. You're pretty sure he'd crawl inside u and hide there forever if he could lmao, he loves having you close <333

YOU WOULDN'T EXPECT IT,, BC,, YKNOW, HE ACT LIKE THIS TOUGH SNARKY ASSHOLE 80% OF THE TIME??? But Super Cuddly Sex is absolutely his jam when he wants,, smth more intimate.

NOT ONLY because he's secretly a sap but <33 oh the physical contact <33 feeling the little vibrations under your skin, the changes in temperature?

YKNOW WHAT??? I think he'd love cockwarming for that exact reason - not only for the delightful sensations, but like <333 he's so very close to you?? <3333 eee

His idea of heaven is lazy saturday morning cockwarming <333

JUST <333 the two of you pressed close under Massive Covers, his dick vibrating inside you?? Soft kisses here and there, all pretzeled around eachother?? Being close enough to hear every noise you make?? Your skin feels so soft and warm in the morning, that it almost feels like he’s standing in front of a fireplace? <3333 YEAYEAYEAYEA THAT'S LITERALLY HIS JAM

Whenever I write about this man, my brain cells completely escape my body. This is a formal apology SMDNSMDND

[queenxxxsupreme]

Baby Steps (dad!Arthur Morgan)

A/N: I know the techniques used in this story are wrong and should not be used I.E. using a male companion goat for a foal as they can be aggressive towards the foal, but this is purely fictional so just ignore it! Max is a part of the family and he is there for comedic relief! This is not for informational use! This is entertainment only! 

Warnings: None! just fluffy! 

This is a part 2 to Unlikely Choice which is here! But it’s also sort of a part of the dad!Arthur series I’ve unintentionally started....

***

The feeling of someone brushing their fingers over your hair woke you up. 

“Mornin’, pumpkin.” Arthur’s voice came from your left. He was laying on his side facing you, keeping himself occupied while you slept. 

He had been up for a while now. His struggles of sleeping had followed him from his life as an outlaw. He was lucky to get four hours some nights. 

“Mhmm.” You turned over to face him, keeping your eyes shut. You were still half asleep and you didn’t mind staying that way. 

“You goin’ back to sleep on me?” He chuckled softly, propping himself up on one elbow. 

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Morgan.”

“Well I do mind, Mrs. Morgan.” Arthur dipped his head down to kiss your forehead. “I’ve been up for a while now. Been thinkin’ about a lot. I don’t wanna think anymore. I need you to distract me.”

You sighed, opening your eyes to see him looking down at you. 

“A distraction, huh?”

“That would be appreciated.” There was a teasing glint in his blue eyes. 

“I’m sure it would.” You giggled. “What’s been goin’ through that head of yours?”

You reached up to brush his hair back. The blonde strands were getting a bit long and fell across his forehead. He’d need a haircut soon. 

“Little of this…. A lotta that.” He laid back on the bed, eyes finding the ceiling. 

You scooted as close to him as you could get and put your head on his shoulder. 

“Thinkin’ about how I’ve gotta fix the floorboards to the hayloft. They ain’t safe and I don’t want Daisy gettin’ hurt.”

“You can’t do that by yourself, can you?”

“Nah. I’ll need a couple extra hands.”

“I can help. Whatever I can’t help with, I’m sure Charles would be more than willing to come over and lend a hand.”

“Of course.” Arthur’s hand found the small of your back. ��Also been thinkin’ bout a couple other odds and ends around here I gotta fix up.”

You looked up at him, sensing that there was something else, something he wasn’t saying. 

“Anything botherin’ you?” 

“Nothin’ you gotta worry about, pumpkin.” Arthur shook his head. 

“Well I’ll worry more if you don’t tell me.” 

Arthur was quiet for a few moments, lips pressed together in a firm line. 

You sat up and leaned back on one hand. You placed your hand over his heart, brows drawing together. He put his hand on yours, giving you a little squeeze. 

“I don’t want to have to worry so much about you both.” His voice was quiet. “This is our home. Don’t like feeling like we aren’t safe.”

“You’re still thinking about Micah, aren’t you?”

He sat up against the headboard. 

“Arthur, last we heard he was in Reno. We don’t gotta worry about him until we hear he’s closer.”

“I don’t want him any closer than Reno. Last we heard that was a few months ago.”

You looked down at the blanket that covered your legs. You smoothed out the material.

“Just…. Just want to be able to raise Daisy and any others we might have without him loomin’ over my head.” Arthur ran his hand over his face. 

“You want more?” You asked, your voice quiet as your eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Well…. I think it would be nice to try for one more, if you want. Only if you want.”

You moved around to straddle his thighs. 

“Daisy’s just…. She’s a dream, pumpkin.” Arthur placed his hands on your hips. “Still is. Sweet girl.”

“She’s definitely daddy’s girl.”

He smiled proudly. 

“Hey, maybe we could have a boy?” He suggested, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Even it out a little. One for you, one for me. I think it’d be nice.”

“Sure would be nice, but we don’t get to pick.”

“I know.” He nodded. His thumb on your hip began to trace circles in the material of your chemise. “Whatever we’d have, I’d love ‘em the same. Another girl would be cute too.”

“You’re adorable.” You leaned in to kiss his lips but just before you could kiss him, there was a knock on the door. 

“Mommy? Daddy?”

Arthur let out a soft sigh, moving his hands from your hips so that you could remove yourself from his lap. You settled on the bed next to him, leaning against his shoulder.

“Come on in, sweetpea.” 

The door opened and Daisy walked in. Carson slipped past her, jumping up onto the bed. Arthur gave him a pat on the shoulder. 

“Good boy, Carson.”

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You greeted Daisy with a smile. “It’s a little early for you to be up, hon.”

“I want to go out to the barn.” She climbed up onto the bed and clambered across your legs. 

“Oh, I reckon it’s far too early to go to the barn.” Arthur teased her. 

“Nuh-uh! You and Papa Hosea are always up early and outside in the barn!”

“What are you so eager to go out to the barn for anyways?” He brushed a few pieces of her hair back behind her ear.

“I wanna see my horse.” She admitted bashfully. 

Ohhh. I see.” Arthur nodded. “Well, why don’t you give me and momma here a few minutes to get out of bed and get dressed. Is Papa Hosea up?”

“Yeah he is. He’s out on the porch.”

“Go on out there with him. Have him take you to the barn while I get up.”

“Okay, daddy!”

Daisy was off of the bed and dashing out of the door in the blink of an eye. Carson was right behind her, eager to start the day. 

“Today is a busy day, Arthur Morgan.” You patted his thigh before getting out of bed. “John and Abigail should be here with the kids before noon. I was thinkin’ of invitin’ Charles and Lucy over too.”

“Of course.” Arthur nodded his head. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his face. “Hey, pumpkin?”

“Yes, my love?” You turned to look at him. 

“You know I love you, don’t ya?”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. 

“I know. You gave me a baby girl and this beautiful house.” You moved around the bed to stand between his legs. “Love you too, you know.” Your arms slipped around his neck. His hands brushed along your thighs as he smiled up at you.

“Wouldn’t have her without you.” He leaned forward to kiss your stomach. 

“You’re feelin’ awfully sweet this morning.” You brushed your fingers through his hair. “Anything else on your mind, cowboy?”

“Just my girls.”

***

Arthur kept his hand on the small of your back as he walked you out to the barn. 

“Hey, you think we should get Hosea a mule when Silver Dollar finally croaks?” He teased as he pushed the barn door open with his shoulder. 

“Don’t you be talkin’ crass about my horse, Arthur Morgan.” Hosea spoke from where he sat in the barn. He was on a stool outside of the stall Daisy’s horse was in. Daisy was on her knees at the bottom of the stall reaching through the bottom of the fence so she could pet the foal. 

“I didn’t expect you to hear me, old man.” 

“Silver Dollar’s outlived a lotta things.” You looked over to Arthur, giving him a little smile. “Doubt he’s gonna go anytime soon.”

“When he does, I’m not gettin’ another horse.” Hosea shook his head. Almost as if happy about his owner’s statement, the Turkoman at the end stall whinnied and stuck his head over the stall door. 

“Then how the hell are you gonna get around?” Arthur moved to greet Silver Dollar. “Hey, boy.”

“I’ll figure it out when the time comes. But you know what I am gonna do? I’m gonna invest in sheep.”

“Sheep?” Arthur repeated. “Don’t we go enough of those?”

While they carried on their conversation, you moved towards Daisy. 

“Have you picked out a name yet, Daisy?”

“Haven’t thought of one.” She frowned, rubbing along the filly’s back. 

“Come on. Let’s go in and keep her company.” You opened up the stall and walked in. 

Daisy followed behind you, sitting down in the straw beside the filly. 

“Well, does she like anything? Any treats you give her?”

“She likes the carrot pieces we gave her last night.”

“Really liked them.” Arthur leaned over the stall, folding his arms along the top as he looked down at you both. “Carrot’s a cute name, ain’t it sweetpea?”

“It’s a silly name.”

“Yeah. But hey, it’d fit right in with what I call you and momma.” He chuckled. “Sweetpea, pumpkin, and Carrot.”

“You’re silly!”

“What names do you like, Daisy?” You asked her, reaching out to pull a piece of straw from her hair. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Well what name do you got in your head, silly?” Arthur reached down to ruffle her hair. 

Daisy giggled again, reaching up to grab his hand. 

“In that storybook momma read me the other night, there was a girl named Piper in it.” 

“Piper, huh? Piper is a neat name.” 

“I like that name.” You looked down at the filly and rubbed her nose. “I think she’s a pretty girl.” 

“You think she could be a Piper?” Daisy asked. 

“Oh, definitely. Don’t you think the same, daddy?” You looked up at Arthur. 

“Piper suits her well.” 

“Now only if we could get the damn thing to walk.” Hosea muttered from his seat. Arthur sent him a glare. 

“Why do you think she won’t walk, papa?” Daisy looked over to him, a frown etched on to her lips. 

You looked up at Arthur, who rubbed his eyes. 

“It’s hard to tell, honey.” Hosea rubbed his neck. “But she looks like a strong one. I’m sure she’ll be walking in no time.”

“Can we make her walk?” Daisy’s eyes found you. 

You opened your mouth to answer but found that you didn’t know the right thing to say. You looked up at Arthur. 

“Yeah, sweetpea. Let’s give it a try now. She ate well last night. Should have some energy in her.” Arthur pulled open the stall door. “You go stand out with papa, Daisy.” 

“Okay, daddy.” 

Daisy moved out of the stall and instead peered through the fencing. 

“You wanna give me a hand, pumpkin?” He held his hand out for you. 

“Of course. Just tell me what you need me to do.” 

Arthur pulled you to your feet and brushed off your skirt. 

“You know how we had that calf a few winters ago that wouldn’t listen to me but loved you? Try to encourage her to get up.”

“You think she’ll listen to me?”

“It’s worth a try.” 

“Has she stood up at all?” 

“No.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now not to trust greasy conmen, Arthur.” 

“Shut up, Hosea.” Arthur muttered. 

You took a piece of apple from the bowl Arthur brought into the barn and knelt down in front of Piper. You put the apple piece in front of her nose, letting her get a little nibble of the treat before pulling it away. 

She tried to follow you by stretching her neck but that only got her so far. 

“Come on, girl.” Arthur encouraged, giving her flank a little pat. “Gotta get up.” 

She lifted herself up on to her front hooves as if she wanted to stand but that was where she stopped. 

“Good girl.” You rubbed her head and let her nibble on the apple a little more. “Sweet Piper. Just a little more, sweetie.” 

“Come on, Piper!” Daisy anxiously spoke from outside of the stall. 

Piper looked like she was ready to stand up, but at the last second she seemed to give up and her front legs buckled. She fell back to the ground, whinnying and flicking her ears. 

You stood up, putting your hands on your hips. Arthur watched you from where he was knelt down behind Piper. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout, pumpkin?”

“Max.” 

“Oh no.” Arthur stood up, shaking his head. “That goat is not teachin’ this horse any bad habits.”

“He won’t teach her nothin’ but maybe to walk.” 

***

Max was a Saanen goat that you kept on the farm with a handful of other goats. 

Max was a handful to deal with. He was mischievous and liked to stir up trouble wherever he could. His favorite activity to do was harass your husband. Max was sweet and nice to you and Daisy. He just didn’t like many people. 

Max followed you to the barn, bleating loudly for attention. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Arthur muttered, blue eyes carefully watching Max as he trotted through the barn. 

“Just trust me.” You put your hand on his arm as you opened the door to Piper’s stall. 

Curious, Max followed you into the stall. Once he saw Arthur was in there, he bleated and scratched his front hoof against the floor. 

But then Piper let out a high pitched whinny, catching Max’s attention. The goat’s ears perked up and he redirected himself towards the foal. He bleated, sniffing curiously at Piper’s leg, and then he bounced around and dug his head at her flank. 

“What’s he doing?” Daisy asked. 

“I think he’s trying to get her to play with him.” Hosea rubbed Daisy’s shoulder. 

Piper placed her front hooves on the ground and whinnied once more. Max bleated. 

With bated breath, you watched as Piper stood up on shaky long legs. Daisy almost clapped her hands but Hosea stopped her, not wanting to spook the animals. 

Max sniffed Piper and then took off out of the stall. 

Piper watched him leave, ears perked up as she listened. 

“Well. That could’ve gone worse.” Arthur said. 

“She’s standing up!” Daisy exclaimed. 

Piper moved around a little, her knees shaking as she explored her stall. 

“When can I start to work with her? Like you did with Poncho?” Daisy’s question was directed to Arthur. 

“Baby steps, sweetpea. We can’t work her too hard.”

But daddy-!”

“Daisy.” You cut her off, keeping your voice gentle. “Don’t raise your voice at him.”

She frowned, looking down at her hands. 

“Maybe in a week or two, sweetpea. Gotta make sure Piper’s good on her feet.” Arthur patted the foal’s flank. 

The filly whinnied, then dipped her nose into the bucket of water in the corner of her stall. 

“I’m gonna go start breakfast.”  You told Arthur. 

“I reckon I’ll go down and see if Charles is up. See if he ain’t too busy and wants to give me a hand with the hayloft.”

“Okay. Be safe.” You leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you gently and chastly, placing his hand on your side. 

“I’ll let you know before I leave.” 

You nodded and turned to exit the barn. 

Arthur watched you leave, then his eyes flickered down to Daisy. 

“Daddy? You think I can take her out to the pasture? Maybe she wants to get some sun.” 

“Yeah, sweetpea. You can go out there with her. S’long as you’re careful and don’t get behind her when she’s standin’.” 

“I’ll go out and watch her.” Hosea offered, moving away from the stall. “Let you get some work done. Make yourself useful.”

“So you get to sit on your ass while I do all the hard work?” 

“Precisely.” Hosea chucked. 

Arthur shook his head, a grin pulling at his lips.

Taglists:  @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[taishispit]

Hello and welcome to tumblr sweetie ❤️

May I ask for a fluffy drabble for Taishiro? Maybe where he tries to confess to his s/o and fails at least 3 times because herowork and his internships and other distractions? Just an idea if you feel comfortable with it~ anyway: showers you with love because, why not <3

thank you for the request omg, i love this idea so much omg 🤚 i’m gonna make this a self insert. is it self indulgent? idk 🧍🏻

y/n = your name | y/h/n = your hero name

word count: 1,576

warnings: reader kinda swears a lot, sorry aldjdjskj

effortless confessions

“please jus’ let everythin’ go smoothly this time,” taishiro sighed to himself and rubbed his temples.

he leaned back into his chair, pouting up at the office ceiling, and tugged at his blond locks as some way to relieve some stress. he’d tried to pour his emotions out to you all month, but he failed every time whether it be due to his interns, a villain, you, or even himself. just talking to you was flustering, he couldn’t look you in the face without becoming weak in the legs. for sometime you thought he disliked you, but he was too nice to you to hate you, so you came to a conclusion that he’s just a funky guy. he is a bit funky, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t look you in the eyes. taishiro just hoped one day you’d realize his feelings so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself every time he tried to confess to you.

“hey boss, are you feeling okay?” your voice echoing in his office disrupted his irritating thoughts, and brought him back to the present. “you look tired. is there anything you need me to do for you or get you? if you want, i could have some takoyaki delivered.” you said, perching yourself comfortably in one of the chairs in front of his desk that was covered in papers and memorabilia. he cleared his throat, hiding the fact that he was trying not to giggle at how cute and comfy you looked in front of him. he was so afraid of making you uncomfortable or making your relationship unprofessional if that’s not what you wanted. “well, er, i jus’ have a lot on my mind right now. i’m kinda conflicted, but i’ll be fine. no need to worry ‘bout me, y/n.” he smiled sweetly at you. “i wouldn’t mind some takoyaki though. get yourself some if you want, and if you don’t mind, could you ask my interns if they’d like some? you can order, i’ll pay.” he reached over his desk to pat your head before leaving you red faced in his office.

taishiro, kirishima, tamaki, tetsutetsu, and you all lazed around in the fatgum agency lounge, scarfing down takoyaki. kirishima and tetsutetsu are conversing and giggling with each other while tamaki listens. they look at you and taishiro, who’s sitting next to you, every so often and go back to giggling. you roll your eyes and laugh to yourself. you side eye the hero beside you to see him deep in thought while he stuffed himself with his favorite food. you brushed your knee against his to get his attention and tried to ignore the heat rising to your ears. “are you sure you’re okay? is something wrong?” you rested your hand on his bicep, looking up at him with furrowed brows. his heart clenched at your genuine concern for him, you made him feel so cared for, and it set something off in him. “will ya come talk with me in my office, please?” his voice was a little shaky, and you were stilled in fear. ‘i’m fucking fired, he knows i ate the mochi he left in the fridge last week-’ your racing thoughts were cut short when taishiro stood up and put his hand on your shoulder. tamaki, surprisingly met eyes with you, softly smiling at you. you grinned back, before leaving the lounge with taishiro.

“please don’t fire me, i didn’t realize that mochi was yours until you mentioned how sad you were that someone ate it. i promise i was going to buy you more, but i kept procrastinating and i really will. please-” a loud snort cut off your pleads. taishiro was slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle any chuckle he could possibly let slip from his lips. “we’re not here for me to fire you, especially not over mochi, y/n. i’m here, with you, to tell you something that i’ve been trying to for a while now.” he scratched the back of his neck, and tried to compose himself. “you’ve been my partner for some time now, m-my colleague, erm, and i admire you a lot. you’re a hard worker, your fighting’s beyond impressive, and i jus’ want-” a thunderous crash and screams from outside of fatgum’s agency caught the attention of everyone in the building.

“fuck! my ass, you’re gonna leave bruises on it, dick!” your voice rang louder than any crash you’d heard in the entire fight as you did, in fact, land on your ass, tumbling backwards. the group of villains was down to 1 deviant compared to the fatgum team’s 4 heroes. although, your opponents were left with their strongest member while yours had used up all his fat protecting you. fatgum had become a shield for you, despite your protests. the hero was reckless and used zero strategy, just to make sure you were safe. your side ached, but that didn’t stop you from picking yourself up to give the villain your all. “you’re a fucking dumbass if you think you can take down the fatgum team without any obstacles. get fucked!” you screamed at the villain with all your might, landing a bone shattering kick to the face and knocking them unconscious almost instantly. “suneater, restrain them! red riot, real steel, go help anyone who’s injured!”

after an ungodly amount of soft slaps to side of fatgum’s face, his eyelashes fluttered, hooded golden eyes meeting your own. “that asshole must’ve sent me to heaven.” the head in your lap nuzzled your thighs, soft hair tickling you through your hero suit. “n-no big guy, how hard did you hit your head?” warmth spread across your face becuase of him for the bagillionth time now. you held one of his cheeks in your hand, checking his face for any cuts or scrapes. without hesitation, his hand lazily reached up to your cheek, mimicking you. “y/h/n, you truly are an angel, taking care of me like this.” he gently caressed your cheek with bruised knuckles. “i’ve tried to tell you this for so long, but things kept gettin’ in the way.” out of your view, red riot was walking towards the two of you. trying to keep your attention on him, fatgum shooed his intern, who was oblivious to the situation, with the flailing of his free hand. thankfully, the poor boy got the hint after a second, and crept away with a big grin on his face. he couldn’t wait to tell the other interns that what they had been waiting forever for was finally happening. you could faintly hear a certain red haired boy yelling about who did something first and how tamaki and tetsutetsu owed him money. “i’ve never been too great with expressin’ my personal feelings, but there was no way i could hide it anymore.” he took a deep breath, preparing to pour his heart out to the amazing hero he’d hired what felt like so long ago. “i didn’t realize when i hired you all that time ago that i’d be hirin’ the best partner a guy could ever ask for. you’re always there for me whether it be as a sidekick or friend. you’re so good to me despite what i look like, you’ve treated me as an equal since day one, and i couldn’t be happier to’ve met someone like you.” he whimpered, shutting his eyes tight, finally just blurting it out. “i fell hard, and i promise i’m not talkin’ ‘bout on my head. i fell for the hero, who’s arms i’m in right now, my hero. i fell for y/h/n, for y/n.” your eyes were glossing over with tears, but you couldn’t help but grin. before he could even fully open his eyes, you fisted what was remaining of his hoodie, and had his lips on your own. his eyes widened before he melted into your touch, kissing you back, and holding you against him as tenderly as possible.

“you really asked if you were getting fired when your long time crush was trying to confess his feelings to you?” kirishima held his gut as he tried to muffle any noise that came out of him. you were all back at the fatgum agency in the lounge again, the interns more invested in you and taishiro than the fight that’d just taken place not that long ago. “listen i- he- the thing is,” you tried to stammer out any possible excuse you could to defend yourself. giving up, you shoved your face into taishiro’s chest, who was glued to your side ever since you pulled him in for that kiss. you heard multiple chuckles. taishiro’s chest heaved with laughter while he rubbed your shoulder soothingly. no sane person couldn’t smile at the sound of his sweet giggles. he could feel your mouth twitch into a small grin against him. looking down at you with a loving look in his eyes, he pulled you by your chin, forcing you to look into his golden irises. there was not a doubt in your mind that something beautiful was blooming between you and your hero. “geez, i can’t believe we’ve been watching you two dummies pining after each other for so long.” tetsutetsu teased, tamaki and kirishima nodding in agreement, a satisfied smile plastered on all three of their faces. “me neither.” you and taishiro said simultaneously, and pulled each other in for another kiss.

i’m sorry this one took so long, i really hope you liked it, thank you for the request !!! 🥺💕

[biisexualemma]

better off. oscar diaz

word count: 1491

warnings: sad kinda

requested: “Hi 👋🏼 idk if you're taking request but can you maybe please write a Oscar imagine based on Ariana's song better off? Love your writing 🤍”

plot: "Steering clear of any headaches to start, And if we’re being honest, I’d rather your body than half of your heart, Or jealous-ridden comments, That come when you let in them feelings that I don’t want, I never let ‘em know too much, Hate gettin’ too emotional, I’m better off without him”

a/n: if you haven’t listened to this song then wtf are you doing?????? listen to ariana’s entire discography now or you’re missing out

masterlist

your best friend jumped, startled when you came barging into your shared apartment, slamming the door behind you. "he's an asshole," you huffed. you ran your fingers through your hair, tossing your jacket and keys on the sideboard. "i'm sick of him."

"leave him then," she was only half listening, you could tell by the way she kept her eyes stayed locked on the tv screen in front of her and her hand deep in a bowl of popcorn. you paced back and forth, taking deep breaths to calm down. you tried to keep it together a lot of the time but this was your best friend, she'd seen you through everything.

"i can't!" you raised your voice. you quickly checked yourself though, huffing and slumping onto the couch next to where your best friend sat. she handed you the bowl of popcorn, you mumbled a thanks and dug your hand in, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth. this happened a lot, she was used to dealing with you like this.

"where does he get off telling me what to do?" another mouthful of popcorn. your friend glanced at you, your mouth stuffed, eyebrows furrowed as you continued to rant. she looked at you with disgust. you didn't notice. "i'm not his bitch! i'm my own bitch. i can talk to whoever i want!"

"please stop talking with your mouthful," she muttered, cringing. you didn't hear her though, you were too caught up with your own problems to worry about talking with your mouthful.

"i can talk to other guys without him breathing down my neck, and making stupid, sly comments," another handful of popcorn went in your mouth. you were a big stress eater. "and i try to be civil about it but you've met him— once he's got an idea in his head he can't let it go. he's the most stubborn person i've ever met."

your best friend had heard it all before of course. you often ranted about oscar like this. and she'd tell you to leave him, because what's the point of being in a relationship that makes you this angry all the time? you never did though. you would go to him the next day, or he would come to you, there would be a half-hearted apology, kiss and make up, and that was it. you'd had it this time though, you really felt like you couldn't take much more from him.

he would be dismissive of you in front of his friends, he would pick and choose when to pay attention to you. it was hard to be around him sometimes, you felt like you were hanging around waiting for him to take an interest in you. you tried not to start arguments with him but it was hard. you were too opinionated. it killed you to bite your tongue sometimes. other times you just couldn't help yourself. this had been one of those times.

"leave him then," she repeated. this was her only opinion. she stopped getting so invested in your boyfriend problems a long time ago because it was the same thing every time. this was all she had to say on the topic anymore.

"i can't," you put down the popcorn, groaning as you threw your head back against the couch. "it can be so good when he stops acting like an ass. he's sweet and he cares. it's good."

you tilted your head, glancing at your friend who sat in the same position, watching you vent. you furrowed your brows. she gave you a soft smile, trying to reassure you just a little bit. she was a good friend, you were glad you had her around to rant to. she was a good listener.

"want my honest opinion?" you nodded. she sighed. "oscar's a good guy. but you're not happy with him anymore. he's clearly got his own stuff going on that he takes out on you and that's not fair," she reached over, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tight. "boys get jealous, and argumentative, but i think it affects you this much because you know deep down he's not the same person he used to be��� and you know that you deserve better than how he treats you."

you bit down on your lip hard. you knew she was right. you just nodded, tilting your head back so you could stare at the ceiling again.

"hey," she muttered, moving her arm to your shoulder and pulling you closer to her. "it's ok."

you nodded again, resting your head on her shoulder. "i know," your voice was quiet now. "that i'm better off, it's just hard— i love him."

"i know," she nodded, squeezing her arms around you tighter. "but you should to talk to him."

—

it'd been a few days since you'd last spoken to oscar. he'd texted you a couple of times but you didn't answer, you had to sort yourself out before you could speak to him. you had to know what you were going to say to him.

"hey," he swung the door open, eyebrows furrowed. he looked you over, obviously concerned when you hadn't responded to any of his messages. "what's up? i texted you."

"i know," he stepped aside, letting you in. you found yourself pacing again. "we need to talk."

you turned to see him standing on the other side of the room, suddenly you were nervous. his brown eyes looked confused, he didn't look scary like he often fronted as— he looked worried. you immediately felt like this was wrong. guilt hit you, you didn't want to hurt him.

he hesitated before he spoke. "about what?"

"i love you," you blurted out. his eyebrows furrowed deeper, he opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off before he could. "but you're not yourself, and you haven't been for a while."

oscars face softened.

"and i can't take this hot and cold with you," you shook your head. you ran your finger through your hair, pulling it tight as you tried to get your words out. "it's too much. i never know what you're thinking. you don't talk to me."

"what's your point?" he was waiting for you to say it. he expected you to leave eventually. and it was his fault, he knew it. you were right. "if you wanna leave, just leave already— you don't need to drag it out."

you frowned. "i don't want to leave," you were quiet. "i just don't understand what happened. i don't know why you don't want me anymore— you used to talk to me about everything."

"who said i don't want you anymore?" he was quick to get defensive. truth was, oscar loved you more than anything, he just couldn't be who you wanted him to be right now.

"it's obvious," you shrugged. you tried to keep up a stern expression, but it was hard when he looked at you like that. you gulped. "i don't feel like you want me around anymore. you never pay attention to me, and when you do, you get jealous over nothing or we're arguing over nothing— i'm tired of it."

he was quiet. he was angry at you. he just didn't know what to do. he didn't know how to stop you. he knew he'd been different lately. he had so much on his plate, he felt angry all the time and you always caught the brunt of it. but he could never talk to you about that stuff, he would never drag you into anything gang related. but it still weighed on him, and he was distant because of it, he couldn't think about anything else. it wasn't your fault.

so he couldn't argue, because everything you'd said was true. this talk had been a long time coming. he didn't want to lose you, but maybe it was for the best. maybe he needed to focus on other things, sort his priorities out.

"ok," was all he said. you expected more. you wanted more from him. you didn't want to be right this time.

"that's it?"

he shrugged. "you're right. i'm not good for you right now," you were surprised he was agreeing with you, he never did that. "i still love you, but you're right."

it broke your heart. this would've been much easier if he'd just yelled at you. you could've hated him, you wanted to hate him so it'd be easier to leave. instead, your heart wrenched and your throat tightened. you were never publicly a very emotional person, so you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reacting.

"i love you, too," you mumbled. suddenly everything felt wrong. but you couldn't go back now. it's for the best. it's for the best. you repeated over and over again, hoping it'd sink in so the pit in your stomach would go away. "so i'm gonna go."

it's for the best. you're better off.

[earlysunsetsoverambrose]

Operation Sweet Surprise (1/3)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader (Romantic or Platonic)

Warnings: roadkill and animal skulls

Description: It’s Bo and Vincent’s Birthday and you’re determined to make it special. You can’t do it alone, however. So you enlist the help of the youngest Sinclair.

The alarm on your bedside table went off at precisely 7 AM. Your eyes shot open and you couldn’t contain the smile that immediately took over your whole face. You were quick to shut off the alarm, glancing at the calendar to confirm you were correct. Today was the day. September 18th. More than likely, neither twin remembered the date so that made it all the easier for you to get away with your master plan. You’d been planning your little scheme for weeks now and it was all about to pay off. Operation Sweet Surprise was in full swing.

Yesterday, you were meticulous in your preparations, making extra sure you had your game plan mapped out completely. You had taken stock of what ingredients the Sinclairs already had. They didn’t have a lot, but they had some of the basics: flour, white sugar, butter, and eggs. The flour and sugar had been sitting there mostly untouched for years and were a little expired, but they would have to do. You couldn’t afford to buy everything new and you had to prioritize. Luckily, you’d had a little money from doing jobs Bo gave you around town. They were only small tasks here and there and he’d only give you a few dollars out of what they’d gotten from visitors, but it was enough for your purposes. You found an old cookbook with fairly simple recipes for both desserts that didn’t call for anything too fancy. Everything you needed was well within your ability to procure.

After that, all you had left to do was appeal to the youngest Sinclair to ask for a huge favor and hope he’d indulge you. Luckily, he had. That’s why he was your favorite by far.

You made your way to Lester’s cabin on foot. It wasn’t too far outside of town, but it was still a bit of a long walk. Obviously, you couldn’t ask Bo or Vincent to take you or you’d spoil the surprise and that was non-negotiable. Thankfully, the sun was on its way down, so it wasn’t miserably hot outside, making for a rather peaceful mini-hike.

Once Lester’s cabin came into your line of sight, you eagerly jogged up to the front door. You knocked, announcing yourself so he wouldn’t be alarmed as to who was knocking on his door right before nightfall. The door swung open to reveal Lester, toothy grin and all.

“Y/N! What can I do ya for? What’re ya doin’ out and ‘bout so late? ‘Specially all the way out here?”  

“I came to see you! I have a huge favor I need to ask and you’re the only one who can help me!” You said, buttering him up so he’d say yes.

“Alright then, lay it on me.” he said, matching your enthusiasm.

“I’m planning on baking a birthday cake and pie for your brothers and I need you to take me into town so I can get the rest of the ingredients.” You said hopefully “I just need a ride, that’s it! I swear! And maybe, if you could let me borrow your kitchen that’d be incredible too! If it’s not too much trouble! I promise to clean up everything when I’m done!”

“Wow! That’s awful nice of ya!” Lester said supportively. His grin faltered for a moment, though, “Ya sure ya want it to be me that takes ya?”

“Pretty please, Lester! I’ll do anything! You’re my only hope!” you said dramatically as you clasped your hands together with the best pout you could muster through your giggles, begging him to help you.

“Well, I don’t suppose I can leave a damsel in distress. Sure, I’ll give ya a ride!” he said happily, “When did ya need to go?”

“Tomorrow morning! I’ll meet you where the road’s washed out at seven-thirty sharp.”

“Square deal, I’ll be there.” He said reaching out his hand to seal the deal. You dodged the hand and practically rammed your body into his, squeezing him in a tight embrace.

“Thank you, Lester! I’d be lost without you!” you said as you released him, smile beaming.

“N-no, problem. Anything for you…a-and Bo and Vinny, of course. They’re my brothers after all.” Lester stuttered out, still red from your hug.

“Thanks again! Okay! I’ll get out of your hair! I’ll bring all the pots and pans and other ingredients with me tomorrow! You’re the best, Lester!” you said as you began to jog back towards Ambrose.

“Hey, wait! It’s gettin’ dark out! I’ll give ya a ride back, if ya like!” Lester called out as he closed the door behind him, following you.  

“You don’t have to do that. I couldn’t abuse your kindness any further.” You said only half-joking, “It’s okay, it’s not that far a walk.”

“Guess it’s not out of my way then.” Lester said matter-of-factly as he opened the passenger side door of his truck. You glanced between the long walk ahead and back to Lester’s hopeful expression.

“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm about it…” you said playfully as you walked up to Lester’s truck. He helped you up and closed the door behind you. You two got lost in conversation as you drove into the night toward Ambrose. By the time you arrived back, the ride didn’t seem nearly long enough.  

You hopped out of bed and were quick to change into an outfit you wouldn’t mind getting dirty. Baking had a propensity to get messy so you were prepared to let the flour fall as it may. You pulled out a duffle bag you’d take from the storage house a few days ago and slung it over your shoulder. Last night, after the twins finally went to sleep, you loaded the bag up with everything you would need to make their birthday treats.

It was incredibly important everything go perfectly. It was a very special day whether the Sinclair Twins cared about it or not. It was their birthday and you were determined to make them feel special, damn it. All of the Sinclair brothers had spent far too many years being ignored and undervalued. Continuing that tradition simply wouldn’t do.  

Over the last few weeks, you’d managed to weasel the information you wanted out of them, little by little. They told you that birthdays weren’t ever a huge ordeal for them. At most, their parents would buy them a cake and that would be it. The cake was always a vanilla cake with white frosting, which also happened to be Vincent’s favorite. Something you were sure Bo was bitter about. You tried multiple times to subtly badger Bo into telling you what he would have wanted if he had gotten a choice, but he always said he didn’t like sweets and shut you down. With a little more time, you noticed the one food Bo would consistently linger on - whether in an old coupon clipping or in reruns on TV - was apple pie. You noticed that each time, without fail, when Bo’s eyes would land on a picture of old-fashioned apple pie, he’d stare just a bit longer before moving on. Sometimes you even caught the smallest sigh escape his lips as he moved on after a glimpse of the dessert. That was all you needed. Once you had your answers, everything came together.

You quietly poked your head out of your room. Both Bo and Vincent’s doors were wide open, signifying both of them were up and about. You made your way down the stairs, listening for any signs of life in the house. It was silent so far, though that only meant Bo wasn’t there. Vincent could be lurking right behind you and you’d be none the wiser, the stealthy bastard. You paused at the bottom of the stairs to scan for movement. Nothing. You made a beeline for the front door and made your way down the porch and along the gravel road. Vincent was most likely working in the House of Wax. Bo was probably in the gas station. You just hoped he was too preoccupied to notice you. If he saw you trying to sneak by with a giant duffle bag, he might get the wrong idea. Thankfully, when you neared the gas station, you could hear his music blaring, meaning he was working in the back or downstairs. A shiver ran down your spine and you tried not to think about what he was getting up to. You picked up the pace toward the edge of town.

             All the tension in your shoulders and the back of your mind disappeared when you laid eyes on Lester’s truck, waiting just like he promised. He was leaning up against the front, vigorously rubbing at something in his hand with an old, ratty cloth. You couldn’t help but find the scene endearing, his tongue poking out in careful concentration. You whistled to get his attention and his head shot up at your sound. His classic, goofy grin overtook his features. Whether he meant it or not, Lester wore his heart on his sleeve, and you treasured that.

You smiled back as you could practically see an imaginary tail wagging behind him at your arrival, his big brown eyes sparkling with anticipation. Always so keen to be around you, Lester never made you feel like a burden. He was the first to make you feel like Ambrose was your home, invested himself in talking to you and sharing with you. He welcomed you with open arms and proved himself to be quite reliable. It was always a welcome relief to be around someone who so honestly wanted to be around you. Not that you didn’t enjoy Bo or Vincent’s company, but they could be rather closed off and many times you were left not knowing how to feel or how they felt about you. That was never a question with Lester. You rather liked that about him.

“Thanks again for helping me out, Lester!” You said as you carefully made your way across the water. Lester wrapped up his cloth and tossed it to the driver seat before reaching out a hand to help you across the rest of the way over. As you made it to the other side, you dropped the bag at your feet, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Wasn’t any trouble,” Lester said, “Let me get that for ya.” He leaned down and hefted your bag over his shoulder and carried it toward the truck. He placed it on the floor of the passenger side before turning back to face you, “I tried to clean the truck up as best as I could, but uh, it’s still a bit rough. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re giving me a free ride. I’ve got no room to complain. Besides, I love your truck. It’s got style.” You said encouragingly. You noticed Lester rub the back of his neck as he looked down and smiled to himself. He did that every time he got a compliment. His truck might have been unconventional and certainly fragrant to say the least, but like he said; with time, even you got used to the smell. Now, it was just another part of him that you accepted like anything else. You two hopped in the truck and took off down the road toward town.

“Oh! Get a look at this!” Lester suddenly piped up as he scooped up his cloth from beside him “I found it by the road this mornin’! It was a raccoon ‘fore it started rottin’.” He held out a gory animal skull for you to admire.

“H-how about that?” you said looking the skull over. This wasn’t really in your area of expertise, but Lester seemed excited about it, so of course you listened closely.

“Yeah, pretty neat, right? Chased away some buzzards peckin’ at it ‘fore they messed it up. I have ‘bout five different skulls at home - kinda like this one - but this one’s nice and put together, ya see?” He was ecstatically pointing out the features of the skull as he went on, “The others I got are in bits and pieces. So, I reckon I can clean it up nice and set it on the dash next to…uh…sorry. I’m ramblin’ again. Ya don’t wanna hear this…” he trailed off as the joy in his voice turned apologetic.

“Hey, don’t apologize. I like to hear about the things you like.” You said energetically, trying to hype him up again, “If it matters to you, it matters to me. And I think it’ll look great on your dash. You’ll have to show me the rest of your collection sometime!”

“Really?” Lester asked lighting up again.

“Course I would! Why not?” you asked.

“No one ever wanted to hear ‘bout this sort of stuff, is all.” He said forcing his gaze to the road, “Usually just tell me to hush up.”

“They said that to you?”

“Yeah…I get it, though. Bothers some folks.” Lester said as he tried to shake off the shame in his voice, “I used to collect little bones and rocks when I was a kid. I’d clean ‘em up and show ‘em to everyone. I showed ‘em to my folks. And that foster family I had. And kids at school – some teachers too - but uh…I guess it ain’t too interestin’. They were too busy is all. And I don’t ever wanna bother no one.”

“Well, I think it’s cool.” You said resolutely. You were absolutely fuming inside. You knew Lester was neglected by his parents, but the fact that no one after them ever tried to engage with his interests was upsetting. Your heart broke thinking about little Lester trying so hard to make friends only to be ignored; not just by other kids, but by adults and educators who should have been on his side. He was just a kid trying to share what he loved and they told him to shut up. Well, you weren’t going to do that, “I definitely couldn’t have told you what animal that used to be. I wouldn’t know that from an opossum or a fox. How can you tell the difference?”

“They key is in the ridges on top. This one’s nice and smooth, see? It’s definitely a raccoon!” Lester explained excitedly. He was delighted as you continued asking more questions about the trinkets in his car and where he’d picked them up. Lester told story after story; and the childlike joy all over his face was reason enough for you to keep asking for more all the way up until you realized you had made it to the grocery store.

[dadolorian]

A Second Chance - Part 1 Whiskey x F!Reader

A/N: I had an idea for a slow burn with Whiskey i couldn’t shake. Reader is Agent Schorle ,a short, curvy female employee at Statesman (Not a field agent). She works in the ‘PR’ department and is good friends with Tequila. This is a mix between canon and Fanon Whiskey, set after Golden Circle so it rewrites canon and he’s not a secret bad guy, living past the events of the movie. But he is still a womanizer while he is single. Like with most my x reader fics its more OFC than a traditional reader but i change it up so it can be read as a reader fic, meaning the reader is more of a character. This chapter is just their introduction/first impressions.  Also! I AM NOT American, so if i get any shit about America wrong, IDGAF. Credits: No Beta reader. HMU if you wanna be one for this series

Title: A Second Chance Fandom: Kingsman; the Golden Circle. Ship: Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader Warning:  Bit of womanizing behavior from Whiskey (Surprise surprise), it’s not rejected by the reader character so its consensual. Nothing else for this chapter. Heads up before you get invested, not in this chapter but there will be triggering stuff as part of the plot in later chapters, and there will be kids in later chapters too, just in case either of those things aren’t your cup of tea. No use of Y/N in this chapter. There are two narrative perspectives in this story, 3rd person Whiskey perspective and 2nd person Reader perspective. Promise not to flip between them too often. Word count: - 2K Master List - coming soon Request status AO3 Link - coming soon Next part - coming soon

The first thing Jack Daniels noticed was not the way her pencil skirt hugged her ass, or the way her blouse struggled to contain her breasts, as much as his colleagues would later claim. He was well aware of his reputation as a womanizer and didn't exactly blame them for that immediate assumption, it was what most people noticed first about her anyway, why would Jack Daniels, the womanizing Cowboy be any different? No, the thing he noticed first was her laugh. It was so warm, angelic, he was entranced hopelessly from the first moment he first heard it in the Statesman hallway. He would give his damn hat to hear that sound grace his ears again.

He had gravitated over to her immediately, joining in on the little conversation she was having with Tequila. He tried to be subtle, he really did, waltzing up to the two of them with his best, charming smile, checking her out as he did so and nodding a greeting at his colleague. She was short, and curvy, her attire was office professional, meaning she probably wasn't a field agent, tidy, small heels showing her shapely curves of her legs, and soft, professional curls hung loosely, framing her round face. She was gorgeous. “Hey there Tequila,” he smiled, before nodding in her direction. “You gonna introduce me to your pretty lil friend here?” She blushed slightly, he noticed, as she pushed some of her neat hair behind her ear, she had a small shy smile on her face too, ‘cute as a button’ he thought. “Ahhh come on Whiskey, leave her alone,” Tequila groaned dramatically, making her giggle. Jack couldn’t help his smile growing at the sound. “Now now Boy,” he chuckled, patting Tequila's shoulder. “You can’t be hiding this pretty little thing from me and not expect her to catch my eye,” he added, shooting her a playful wink. She hugged the files she was carrying closer to her chest, blushing more and avoided his eye contact. Jack might have assumed she was uncomfortable if that smile wasn’t still playing on her lips. “She’s off limits, Whiskey,” Tequila sighed. “I think she can make her own mind up about that,” Whiskey grinned, elbowing the younger agent. “She’s a big girl. Now come on, show some manners and introduce me.” She giggled again and Tequila groaned, pissed off that already Whiskey’s stupid southern charm was working already. “Whiskey,” he sighed, already expecting the ungodly amount of flirting that was about to rain down upon his friend. “This is Schorle. One of our ‘behind the scenes’ agents.’PR’ department.” Jack flashed her a crooked smile as Tequila continued, motioning to the senior agent. “Schorle, this is Whiskey. I’ve told you ‘bout him before.” “Oh, have you now?” Jack chuckled, he put his hands on his hips and faced her more directly. “All good things I hope?” he asked her. She gave him another shy smile and Jack felt his heart soar. “I am well aware of you Agent Whiskey, and not just from Tequila here,” she said, now his heart felt like it had skipped a beat. Her voice was as angelic as her laugh! “Again, I hope it's all good things,” he laughed.  “Most the time, yes,” she hummed playfully. “My main job is hiding Statesman true existence from the public eye.” She flashed him a more coy smile and his grin grew. “Which means i tend to hear about certain escapades, such as a cable car sledding down a mountain.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, laughing nervously. “You certainly don't make my job easy sometimes, Agent,” she teased. Jack's expression was one of pleasant surprise, she wasn’t as shy as she appeared. Tequila laughed, pleased his friend was at least able to bite back at the other man. “She’s still off limits old man,” the younger agent muttered to him. “I am not that much older than you,” Jack retorted, making her giggle some more. “And as i rightfully pointed out earlier, she can make up her own mind about me i am sure.” Tequila was about to bite back but she interrupted whatever thought he was about to say. “He’s right on that Tequila. I can make up my own mind,” she said, giving Jack another smile. “And right now my mind is telling me i need to get back to work.” She gave Jack a nod and Tequila a friendly wave as she turned on her heels and went back to wherever her office was. Whiskey let out a long whistle when she was out of earshot, admiring her ass as her hips swayed. His staring was interrupted by Tequila wacking him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Hey! I’m only looking!” he pouted. “She didn’t seem to have a problem with me.” “Dang it Whiskey she's my friend!” Tequila groaned. “Just leave her alone, she don’t need none of that. “ “She’s not married,and I know she ain’t your girl,” Jack remarked. “She’s still my friend Whiskey,” the younger agent sighed. “I don’t want her gettin’ hurt.” Jack frowned at him. “Hey now that’s not fair,” he said sternly. “I know I have a reputation an all but you’re acting like I plan on breaking her heart.” “She’s one of the nicest people I ever met, she doesn’t deserve to be your current flavor of the month,” Tequila defended. “Now I take personal offence to that Tequila,” Jack countered. “I would like to think myself a gentleman and my intentions are purely honorable.” “The way you were staring at her ass tells me otherwise,” Tequila mumbled. “C’mon Whiskey, you don’t even know her. She’s just another pretty piece of ass to you and we both know it.” Whiskey gave him a disappointed look. Slightly upset his friend would think so lowly of him, but he had to admit his reputation did nothing to counter it. “It’s really bothering you isn’t it?” he asked, sighing when Tequila nodded. “Fine, look, I won’t chase her. If it means that much to you,” he sighed in defeat. He was still enamored with her, but if hooking up with her bothered Tequila so much he wouldn’t in good conscience be able to do so. “That a promise?” Tequila asked, holding his hand out for Jack to shake and seal the deal. “Yeah,” he sighed, taking the offered hand. “She must mean a lot to you,” he added, only getting another nod in return from the younger man as they shook hands. 

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You first noticed Whiskey long, long before the two of you ever actually met in person. You hadn’t been joking about dealing with the results of his missions, constantly having to kill stories in the press or send out false reports to police and media so that Statesman’s business remained out of the public eye. Your ‘PR’ department was often quite busy, constantly searching social media to kill any evidence that might have been captured by the public. It was a 24 hour job, one you were in charge of now.

Years ago, when you were a new hire, just one of the lackeys, your first assignment was to comb through social media to kill any evidence of Whiskey’s latest mission. You hadn’t slept for two days during that time, surviving on caffeine and an ambition to make a good impression at your new job. You could vaguely remember complaining to one of your co-workers about the agent who had gone in guns (and Lasso) blazing without considering the fact that smart phones were now a thing and that the target was a very public figure. That was the first time you heard of him, as your more experienced co-worker gushed over his skills as an agent while you sat and seethed at the ungodly amount of work he had caused you on your first assignment.

You could look back on that memory fondly now, and since then your opinion of him had changed as you heard more and more about him. He was a skilled agent, had a strong sense of justice and always got the job done. Sure, his methods were sometimes a little unorthodox and he was often quick to jump into the fray, but there was no denying his skill. He was a senior agent for a reason after all. And of course, you had heard about his reputation, no woman in the office hadn’t. He would flirt with any pretty thing that caught his eye. You used to think that your co-workers that fell for his charm were foolish for falling for it, given his well known reputation among Statesman, but that was before you met him in person. You had seen him in passing before, from afar, or glimpses of him in the social media posts you killed, he was handsome, sure, but it was a whole different level when you met him face to face. You thought you were safe from his charm, believed you were smart enough not to fall for it should it happen to come your way, but you also doubted you would ever be on the receiving end of it. You had been in the same room as him plenty of times in the past and he had never paid any attention to you, and not to mention you didn’t exactly fit his usual type. You were short, plump, nothing like the field agents he was used to working with, women who were physically fit enough to work alongside him and fight. Not to say you thought you were completely unattractive, sure it sometimes bothered you that your blouse could barely contain your breasts and that your stomach and thighs were a little too soft for your liking, but you weren’t blind. You could see the not so subtle looks as you walked past, the way people would try to discreetly check out your ass as you walked. It was a confidence booster for sure. It just never occurred to you before that you would be Whiskeys type. So the day the two of you met officially, you couldn’t help the blushes, he was attractive, and paying attention to you, perhaps it wasn’t so hard to see why women fell for his charm even with his reputation. You were just like every other woman he flirted with, but when he spoke to you it made you feel special. You supposed that was the appeal, why it was so easy for him. It wasn’t until you had excused yourself from his company and were able to calm down that you began to chide yourself for falling for his charm. You reminded yourself of his reputation, as handsome and charming as he was you didn’t want to be just another roll in the hay for him.

You sighed as you made your way into your office. Now the head of Statesman’s ‘PR’ department you were officially considered an ‘agent’, the perks in which included your own private office. You dropped your files off before making your way inside, ready to get back to work, trying to ignore the way Whiskey's attention had made your heart flutter and pretend you weren’t looking forward  to seeing him again.

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[dopescotlandwarrior]

Bluegrass-Chapter 11

               A special thanks to @statell​ for everything you do for my stories

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Eleven

The following day, Jamie drove Michael to look at a car. It was perfect for his needs and he paid cash for it. Once they were done, Jamie suggested dropping in on Claire and he would just stay after their visit. Michael was all for a glass of whisky and texted her they were on the way.

Claire heard two vehicles pull up to her stairs and went outside to welcome the men into soft comfortable chairs on her patio. Jamie looked at her for a long minute, appreciating the long cotton dress she wore and hair up in a ponytail. She took his breath away, but was soon snapped out of his reverie with a glass of whisky. The three of them seemed happy and relaxed and the whisky flowed. Stories about training horses and buying quality broodmares were shared and Jamie laughed while telling how he acquired the Runner’s dam.

“It was ridiculous inching up with another bidder. That fucken guy was so cheap it was turnin into torture for all of us. I decided to offer the askin price and Chad could kiss my ass.”

“Wait!”

Claire put a hand to her chest and took a deep breath.

“Did you say Chad? You outbid Chad, Jamie”

“Aye, he was plenty pissed too. I told him to grow up and find another mare.”

Claire stood up and paced around her patio. Suddenly it all made sense. That’s why Chad went out with her, to get information about Jamie, or Runner. She sat down and stayed quiet until Michael left, and she was plenty worked up by that time.

“Maybe Chad had something to do with poisoning the horses, Jamie. I don’t know how yet, but I always wondered why he wanted another date when we didn’t seem to get along.”

“I know him, how could he slip in and poison the feed without someone seein him?”

“I don’t know and forgive me for saying this, but I think Isobel had something to do with it too. Only because her horse was not affected. Porcelain was not poisoned but she did beg me to get her away because she was afraid of Isobel.”

Jamie got very quiet and listened to Claire feeling the truth in what she said.

“It was a sudden trip to Scotland she went on, maybe she was afraid of bein implicated, so she left. I remembered she cried and carried on for days when she got home. An exaggerated response because she couldn’t give two shits for those horses.”

“Why is she staring at Runner in the middle of the night. What can she gain from hurting him?”

“I don’t know Sassenach, but it’s time to push her a bit and hope she makes a mistake. Right now I need yer body mo chridhe. Come inside, I have somethin to show ye.”

Claire was hungry for him and peeled his clothes and boots off slowly and then worshiped his naked body until he almost came in her mouth. He pulled her away from him and told her to remove her dress while he watched. She slipped out of the dress and waited.

“Bra and panties too, love.”

She stood in front of him raking her eyes over his gorgeous body.

“Come here.”

When Claire was seconds away from her orgasm, Jamie heard Molly come in and the front door close. He covered Claire’s mouth with his hand and pushed her off the cliff she was on, keeping his hand in place until her moaning stopped. She gave him a come fuck me look and he tumbled into his own hurricane of release, heroically quiet.

Most of the next day, Claire and Runner worked with Michael, giving Jamie some time to consider the Chad connection and possibly Isobel. He picked up the phone and dialed Ned Gowen. The older gentleman’s voice gave Jamie goosebumps and made his heart hurt. Ned had been a friend of the family for decades and his voice reminded him of home.

“Yes laddie, I added terms to your contract with Dunsany for the dissolution of marriage. Ye havena married the lass and doesna sound like any possibility in the future. If you want her out, tell her to leave. The loan contract was signed by you and Dunsany. Isobel was not a signer and as long as you are current on yer payments, she canna force you to sell. It may be harsh for Isobel, but she is entitled to nothing.”

Jamie couldn’t believe his ears and struggled through the rest of the conversation. He wanted to get up to the house and pack all of Isobel’s belongings right away. Isobel could rent an apartment somewhere, but he wasn’t paying for it. Maybe this was enough to drive her back to Scotland.

Fortunately, he gave it some thought before impulsively kicking Isobel out and though it was a dreaded phone call, he decided to touch base with Dunsany. He had given Dunsany double and triple payments when his foals and yearlings sold, consequently he was far ahead in paying off his debt. He hoped that would count for something. It was the dinner hour in Scotland, so he made the call before he lost his nerve.

Dunsany was not surprised at this development in the relationship of Jamie and his daughter, in fact, it was expected.

“If Isobel has taken no interest in your breeding business than it stands to reason she will not share in the profits. She isn’t smart enough to realize this so I imagine you will have quite a time with her. If she wants to come back to Scotland, her mother will welcome her with open arms. If she decides to stay in Kentucky I will pay for her housing. You can pass that along to her please and I will wait to hear from her.”

“Jamie, I financed your operation because you acted honorably, agreeing to marry Isobel when she was with child. I make money with honorable men every day and knew this was a good investment, no matter the turn out between you and my daughter. So far I was right, although I’m not happy with the doubling up on your payments, it's costing me too much in interest. You can pay your monthly installment or pay me off so I can reinvest.”

That was all there was to it. Jamie hung up the phone feeling like a man freed from four years of imprisonment and couldn’t sit still with his happy energy. He went out to watch Claire and Runner, also getting some sunshine on his face.

Claire was breezing and Runner was open-mouthed from her holding back on the bit. He wanted to bust out and gallop, it was obvious how much he loved to run. Jamie smiled as they came closer. Michael called to her to move him eight feet to the left and Claire was able to direct him with no problem. Other horses were working out and when three of them came close to Runner he pinned his ears back and almost broke out of Claire’s control. She let him accelerate a bit but still held him back.

Jamie sat against a tree and dialed Isobel.

“Something important has come up Isobel. I need you to call me back right away.”

Jamie closed his eyes to the bright sun and wondered what kind of shit storm Isobel was going to cause over being kicked out of the house. He picked up his vibrating phone.

“What is it, Jamie.”

“I need ye to come home as soon as ye can. I’ll be packin your stuff tonight because ye are movin out of my house. Yer father said he will pay your housing if ye stay in America, or ye can go home to Scotland.”

“You must have hit yer head today if you think I’m leavin with nothin. Ha, that’s rich Jamie. You will pay off the loan to my father and sell the farm so we can split it. Then I will leave happily.”

“By contract, you are entitled to nothin. You are not a signer on the finance agreement, more importantly, you have not contributed five minutes of your time to this business in the four years we have been here.”

“Bullshit! I am not stupid Jamie Fraser.”

“I think ye should call yer father and stay calm so he can explain it to ye. I’ll pack yer things and ye can take what ye need for the short term. You can stay in a hotel until ye find suitable housing or go home. If ye don’t come for your things tonight I will leave them outside the door for ye.”

“No!” Isobel was shrieking into the phone, so loud that Jamie held his cell away from his ear. “No, you canna do this to me, fuck ye. I will be home for dinner and bed like every night.���

“Perfect, I could use some help gettin it all packed. Goodbye Isobel.”

When Jamie looked up, Claire and Michael were staring at him. They could hear Isobel from the track. Claire jumped off Runner and pulled his saddle off. She gave Jamie a long look as she walked to the wash rack.

Jamie ran after her and helped kneed Runner’s muscles with his permanent smile. Claire had never seen him so happy.

“I am very curious about what has made you so happy.”

“I am movin Isobel out of my house, tonight. She isn’t happy about it but I’m doin it anyway. I spoke to Ned Gowen earlier and he told me the financing contract was signed by Dunsany and me, not Isobel. If we had married, the property and assets would be split according to Kentucky law. Failing to marry means she has rights to nothin. Her father will support her so she’s not in the streets and maybe she will go back to Scotland. I can only hope.”

They walked out into one of the pastures to enjoy the Indian summer warmth and let Runner chow down on grass. Jamie touched her cheek and then kissed her.

“Jamie, I can’t stop thinking about Dustin today. Can you think of a reason he doesn’t call or email me? I’m curious about how he is doing, and I miss him. It hurts my feelings that he just forgot about me after being attached at the hip for almost two years.

“He loves ye Sassenach. I imagine he’s suffering with a broken heart and talkin to ye will make it worse.”

Claire looked at him like he lost his mind.

“It’s true, love. I saw it the first day you were here. He will come around when he’s ready.”

Claire was deep in thought when they walked back. She wondered if it were true about Dustin and wondered why she never noticed. Jamie kissed her deeply and said he would be fighting with Isobel all night so he would not see her after work. He held her for several minutes, one last kiss, and she was gone.

Jamie stared at the enormous job of packing all the clothes, makeup, lotions, shampoo, and a thousand other things. This was way bigger than he estimated, and he would need a ton of boxes. He dashed into town and bought a dozen boxes in three sizes. Coming back, he saw Isobel’s Cadillac in the driveway and took a deep breath.

Isobel walked swiftly toward him looking like she would stab him in the face if she could.

“What are all those boxes for?”

“I told ye, yer movin out tonight. I suggest ye find a suitable hotel to stay at until ye find somethin to rent.” He moved toward the bedroom and started building the boxes. When the tape gun made that horrible noise, Isobel snapped. She grabbed the tape gun and kicked the boxes all over the bedroom.

“I’m callin the police to arrest ye, ye piece of shit!”

Jamie grabbed another box but could not get the tape from Isobel. It looked like she was having a stroke with her purple face and wide eyes. Jamie walked back to his truck where he had a second tape gun and then started on another box.

“I’m callin Jenny. She will stop this, she is at least sane.”

“Enough Isobel! Stop acting like a spoiled four-year-old! You have hated every minute in Kentucky, I can’t remember the last time you were here, and there’s no reason for ye to stay. None whatsoever. I’m not sellin the business and yer father doesn’t want any more double payments. I know ye lied to me about being pregnant, if ye don’t get out tonight, yer father will know as well. Now you can help me or leave me to my task.”

“Ye prick!” With that Isobel ran out the door and sped away in her Cadillac.

Jamie continued until he saw Michael at his bedroom door looking like he had seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong with ye Michael?”

“Did you tell Isobel I was staying in the guest room for a while?”

“I did, well I sent her a text message ye were here, why.”

“I doubt she read it. She came bursting into the house like hellfire was chasing her. She called someone and paced like an animal while she talked. She told this person he was an idiot and if he hadn’t botched the poisoning this would all be over. She also told him she was getting kicked off the property, so it was now or never.”

“Holy shit.”

Jamie sat on the bed and stared into space for several minutes. Both men were shocked by what Isobel revealed not knowing Michael was in the house. Jamie grabbed his phone and dialed Angus hoping the guys had not left yet.

“Angus, can ye and Rupert wait to leave until I get there. There are big developments and I need yer help. I’ll be right there.”

The men assembled in the office and Jamie explained what Isobel said on the phone before asking for ideas.

“Do ye think the poisoner is comin back to finish the job, Jamie?”

“I think this person still wants to hurt me, whether it be poison again or some other terrible thing. I don’t know why Isobel’s presence here will facilitate the guy, but she seems to think so.”

They continued thinking about what might happen and after fifteen minutes Isobel was calling.

“Isobel.”

“I never want to see your face again Jamie Fraser and if you get near me, I’ll call the police and tell them you tried to kill me! I must get my tack out of the barn, so I need a passcode. I’ll be in and out and you can watch from your ridiculous cameras if you want. But if you come near me, you’ll spend the night in jail. So give me your code.”

“8246 star.”

“Do I get to say goodbye to Porcelain Love?”

That’s a different code, its 7933 pound.”

Isobel clicked off without another word. Jamie was shaking with rage. Rupert and Angus were incredulous at what Jamie did, giving her his code. Michael figured it out and smiled.

“If I’m right gentlemen, she intends to give the code to the poisoner so he can finish the job. We know it’s happening tonight so if we take positions in different areas of the compound, we can catch the bloke in the act. As soon as you see him stop at a stall ye jump him. I have a feelin he’ll be headed straight for Runner so let him pass through if he is headed that way.”

“It’s a little daring Jamie. He could easily squirt poison into the water, and we might not even see that in the dark.”

“We should empty the water in each stall. They can handle it for a few hours. And Michael, ye will not be joining us tonight. You don’t need to risk yer neck for a job that doesn’t even pay ye.”

The men were all shaking their heads at the plan and figuring out where they could hide.

“We have another hour of daylight so ye guys get some dinner and a beer, only one beer please.”

Jamie took out a fifty and handed it to Rupert. “When ye come back, you need to hide yer truck Rupert. I’ll leave my truck in the driveway and you pull into the garage and shut the door. Since we don’t know when he’s comin, be silent after dark.” He tossed Rupert the remote to his garage.

The men disbanded to eat and get ready to catch the man that killed five of Jamie’s horses. Jamie argued with Michael on the way back to the house refusing his request to participate.

Jamie laid on his bed and called Claire to fill her in.

“I’m coming over Jamie.”

“No, yer not lass. I would be too worried and distracted with you here. We will get him tonight, I’m sure of it. Isobel has done a fine job of setting him up to be caught. I love ye Sassenach, don’t worry. I will call ye when we catch him.”

“Any time of night Jamie, I doubt I’ll sleep until I know you’re safe, and Runner too.”

“Lass, ye put me ahead of Runner, ye know what that means don’t ye? It means ye love me more than him.”

“I do love you more than anyone in the world. Please be careful.”

Jamie watched the monitors until he heard a light tapping on the front door.

“Claire, what are ye doing here?”

“I’m coming so I can prevent Runner from jumping his stall walls.” She put her hand up at Jamie. “You know the risk of him seeing someone at his stall in the dark. I will crouch down under his water bucket and keep him calm while you catch the guy. No one will see me.”

“Where is your truck?”

“It’s in the lower pasture, well hidden. I hiked up here.”

“In the pitch-black outside, no moon to light yer way? Yer in big trouble lass, let's go.”

As Jamie pulled the door closed, he felt it open again as Michael slipped out to join them.

“I’m coming too.”

Jamie looked at Claire and Michael, both dressed in black and shook his head.

“Silence as we walk.”

Michael hid in the breeding wing, Angus near the entrance door, Rupert on the long aisle. Claire was crouched under Runner’s empty water trough. Runner could not figure out why she was down there and pestered her to race him. She convinced him to lay down in his straw and showed him multiple images of him winning races. Before long he was snoring and the wait began. Jamie logged into the cameras and watched them closely. He had shut down the lights near the entrance so the man would be at ease coming inside. Most of the lights inside were off as well. With all the darkness, the night vision cameras would find him easily.

It was a grueling three hours later that Jamie saw a dark figure approach the keypad and then duck inside. Angus saw him right away and watched him closely. Rupert saw him move down the aisle and Jamie was right, he was heading right for Runner’s wing.

“Sassenach, he’s comin, stay down and quiet.”

Jamie pushed against the wall so he would be on the other side of the door when it opened. He heard the beeping keypad and tried to slow his heart. The door opened slowly, and the dark figure moved toward Runner’s stall door. When he opened the stall, Jamie slammed the door closed and turned on a light. The figure twisted and lunged at him. His arm was raised above his head, and there was a large syringe in his hand. The man slashed at Jamie with the syringe.

When Claire heard the stall open, she almost fainted. He was coming into the stall! She concentrated on images to Runner to keep him asleep. When the lights went on and the door slammed, she jumped up and watched Jamie in a struggle to save his own life.

Jamie reached up and grabbed the man’s forearm and kicked him viciously in the nuts and then pounded his face with his fist, three hits directly to his jaw and the man went down. Claire grabbed the syringe out of his hand and found a safe place to put it. She put her arms around Jamie who was panting from the fight.

“Sassenach, do you have that size syringe in yer truck?”

“Yes and the needle too.”

Rupert and Michael piled in the door and looked at the man. He had a ski mask on which Jamie pulled off to reveal Chad Remington.

“Rupert, go with Claire to her truck and hurry. Angus, turn the water main back on to refill the buckets.

Claire was back in short order with the syringe and needle. She filled the syringe with D5W, a harmless fluid, and looked at Jamie.

The man was tied to a chair and slapped awake. As Claire tied off his bicep and slapped the inside of his elbow to bring up a vein. She pulled the syringe out of her jacket pocket and pulled the safety cap off. Without saying a word, she bent forward and inserted the needle while Chad thrashed in his chair.

“Now then, ye worthless asshole, suppose you start at the beginning with poisoning the horses two years ago.”

Chad ordered Jamie to call the police, willing to face charges to get away from him.

Jamie brought his face close enough to Chad’s he could feel him breathe. Jamie put his thumb on the plunger and growled his question, “start at the beginning or I empty this syringe into yer arm.”

Chad was clearly terrified of the syringe and started sputtering about meeting Isobel at the Keeneland auction two years ago.

“We started sleeping together and I confessed how much I hate you for stealing the broodmare. She hated you and she hated Kentucky, but you wouldn’t sell the farm because your breeding program was making money. She wanted to cash out and get away, I wanted to cripple yer business. Killing your horses would satisfy both of us.”

Jamie couldn’t take another word and smashed Chad’s face with his fist, knocking him out. He left the wing and walked the aisle briskly, trying to calm down. Claire caught up to him and hugged his waist asking him to slow down. She could feel him shaking and spoke softly to him.

“It’s almost over sweetheart. One more person to identify and we can call the police to haul him away. We need to know who helped them poison the horses.”

Jamie exhaled and shook his head. They came back with smelling salts from the emergency medical kit and revived Chad.

“Sorry, I lost my temper for a minute and these blokes held me back from pushin that plunger in yer arm.” Jamie put his thumb on the plunger and told Chad to just give him a reason. “Who helped ye poison the horses. It wasn’t you, so who?”

Chad stared at Jamie but was silent until Jamie jumped forward and pushed the plunger a bit. Chad screamed as five cc’s were injected into his bloodstream.

“It was Yvonne! You hired her to manage the feeding, but she worked for me. She was in love with me and would have done anything I told her. She wasn’t happy staying on two weeks after you found out the horses were poisoned but she did it because I told her to.”

Jamie sneered at Chad and pushed the plunger all the way down. Chad was screaming as he watched the solution disappear into his body. Chad knew there was enough tranquilizer in the syringe to kill a twelve- hundred- pound horse and he would be dead in a matter of seconds. He was hyperventilating and screaming until he passed out.

Jamie pulled the syringe from his arm in disgust and then reached for his phone.

Sometime later Isobel pulled up to the driveway, thoroughly pissed off that Jamie left her boxes on the street. He had sent her a text an hour before telling her to come get them or the borders could have them. She had not reached Chad to come and help her, so she pushed and grunted to move the boxes toward her trunk.

“It looks like you could use a hand.”

Isobel squealed in her shock to hear someone on the road with her on this dark early morning.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me.” When she looked at where the voice came from a police officer came out of the dark and walked toward her while pulling out handcuffs.

“What the hell are you doin?”

Jamie came out the front door and looked closely at the vilest woman he had ever known.

“Yer goin to jail Isobel, along with yer lover Chad who told us the whole story. I’ll donate all this stuff because I’m told yer lookin at up to ten years. Nothing could make me happier.”

Isobel was screaming at Jamie to help her, but he walked into the house and closed the door.

Rupert and Angus were quick to leave, needing a little sleep before they came back for a full day of work. Michael begged off to his room thinking he would easily fall asleep tonight.

That left Jamie and Claire. He held out his hand and hugged her.

“Will ye stay with me tonight mo chridhe?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

They stood under a hot shower not willing to let each other go and soap up. She kissed her hero and felt her heart in her throat at the way he looked at her. He bundled her up in fluffy towels and held her close in bed. Neither wanted to make love after such a day. So they slept in their embrace and felt protected from the world by the other.

Jamie felt Claire’s movement several hours later. He watched her dress and asked her to stay with him.

She kissed him deeply and touched his cheek.

“See ya soon.” She left quietly to find her truck and her way home to change.

Two officers came to the compound the next day and took testimony from each of them. There would be more required of them in the near future, but this was enough to charge Isobel and Chad. Later that day, the officers were able to find Yvonne at Chad’s facility. She was arrested, charged, and sent to jail to await trial.

Claire worked on stats of the horses she would race that day. She was in her silks after weighing in and felt very determined after their disqualification in New York. There were ten horses in the stakes race, Sham was among them. Claire smiled and said a silent thank you knowing Runner would do anything to beat Sham.

Claire turned and smiled at Jamie as she was ponied to the gate. Runner was coming out of the fifth position, right in the middle of ten horses. Claire suggested he hang back for a few seconds to avoid the chaos. When the gate slammed open Claire was in her jockey position and finally asked Runner if he intended to run the race. Almost like an afterthought he jumped onto the track and loped like a rodeo horse falling even further behind. Claire told Runner that Sham was in first place so he better hurry and that was her last thought before he bounded into the turn and took off.

Claire was worried he had dallied too long. It looked impossible to run past the clump of horses and overtake Sham. “We’re going right up the middle big guy,” she yelled, and directed him to shoot straight up the middle of the pack. It was something the crowd would not soon forget. The dark horse coming out of dead last to run up the middle of an eight-horse clump at a staggering speed and overtake the leader, Sham.

Runner told Claire to tuck in from the start and when she peeked around her, she saw no horses. She looked ahead, no horses.

“Jesus Christ Runner, you are all alone. Hurry!” Claire looked ahead at the finish line and the camera blinded her again. “You won the race! Holy crap, there had to be five or six lengths between you and Sham!”

Claire pulled him back and waited for the ha-haha-ha-ha as he passed Sham, still at a full gallop. Claire came around the turn and saw Jamie and Michael smiling like the blinding sun. She stood in her stirrups and pointed her crop at them before pulling Runner back in earnest.

Three weeks later they were racing at Keeneland Park for the Breeder’s Futurity Stakes. Claire could see Jamie was right about better horses as they continued down the road to the Kentucky Derby. They were still running the prep races and Claire shivered to think what the super six would be like.

They were ponied to the third position in the gate and Claire was tense and ready when the gates slammed open. Runner let the others go first but quickly jumped onto the track. Claire could feel how tense he was and coming into the turn he took the wrong lead, slowing him considerably. Claire asked him for the left lead, and he changed it quickly. She didn’t know how to help him but as he came out of the turn his body stretched forward and she could feel his leaping gallop. She tucked close to him looking for trouble ahead every few seconds.

The crowd went wild watching the big black horse turn on his power and run ahead of the others at a blinding speed. Runner took the lead with the closest horse right on his butt as he ran across the finish line. Claire pulled him back while going a little crazy he had done it again. There was no showing off for the horses he beat. Runner obediently slowed down and a track pony was able to stop him quickly. Claire’s heartfelt sad for Runner because he didn’t have fun like he usually does. After the winner’s circle picture, she jumped off and held his face. He told her he was tired and he missed Jason. Claire took a double-take at this asking why he missed Jason, but Runner was being led away by Michael.

Claire jumped into Jamie’s arms kissing him while smiling hard. The number of spectators that gathered to congratulate Claire after the race was growing. She smiled and thanked them as Jamie led her into the stall area where Michael was washing the colt. She held his face and saw pictures of Jason rubbing him with a towel and throwing a blanket over him when he was wet. Claire wondered how they would find a groom like that. Michael was clearly not doing it right.

One man waited outside for Runner to emerge and be loaded into the trailer. The horse was accompanied by the owner, trainer, and jockey, and the man was thrilled. He identified himself as a writer for Sports Illustrated and fired a dozen questions off which were answered by one of the three. The man’s name was William Nock and he had Runner in his sights. The reporter returned to New York that night and blazed through his first article about the incredible stallion, Midnight Runner. He would be trackside for his next race in Florida, at Gulfstream Park.

Claire talked to Jamie when they were alone in the truck. She told him Runner was not happy about today’s race and he wanted Jason back.

“Who?”

“The groom you hired in New York. Runner showed me pictures of everything Jason did for him and he wants that touch again. It’s cold outside and Michael walks him without a blanket after the race and doesn’t rub his muscles, so they cramp up. I love Michael but we need a better groom.”

“I’ll look into it Sassenach. He won one-hundred thirty thousand today, so he gets the best groom. He kissed her and smiled.”

Over the next week, Jamie looked for an outstanding groom, talked to five or six that were still available but could not find anyone who did the treatments Jason did. He made a bold phone call to the track in New York and left a message for Jason to call. Later in the day, Jason returned the call and Jamie made him an offer.

“Come to Kentucky to be our groom for the rest of the races. It’s all travel until the winter break so you’ll be living in hotels, but we will feed ye well and pay all your expenses plus five-hundred a week cash.”

“No kidding?” Jason’s excitement came through the phone. “I love Runner and can’t wait to get out of New York! Heeeell ya!”

Jamie laughed at Jason’s exuberance and felt something release inside of him. He was still getting used to his new freedom. The happiness, the chance to love Claire and let the world know she was his. Why not give Runner the support he wanted to make him happy too?

The oppression of living with a hateful woman was slowly seeping out of him being replaced with happiness and hope. Jamie lived with secret doubts about Runner’s chance to get to the super-six races. He wanted to believe in him that much, he tried to believe, but in the end, he just didn’t. His gut told him great things didn’t happen to him because he was undeserving, not good enough, a pretender. Those were Isobel’s words that had been hurled at him for four long years. She was gone now and he was healing, feeling like himself again. Jamie was content to know however many races Runner had left, he would arrive to the race and exit the race a happy horse with his favorite groom.

[thetriggeredhappy]

Yo once again I LOVE your work and your writing style is stupendous my dude. If you're still taking requests, I was wondering if you could write a drabble about one of the more emotionally strong members of the team (medic, engie, spy, etc.) having an absolute b r e a k d o w n and how the others deal with it. Once again, you're a national treasure and I hope you're safe in these trying times!!

i think “national treasure” is one of my favorite compliment phrases just because i literally can’t think of it without also thinking of nic cage. maybe he’ll come by to steal me away from the fucking horrific sleep schedule that resulted in me writing i think actually none of this before 3 AM

(this is like 7k words, warnings for mention of medic doing medic things, mention of violence, possible trigger warnings for drug use, drug misuse, and overdose, and mention of problems with eating and sleeping)

-

It was a quiet, slow, creeping thing, right up until the moment that it wasn’t. Something that might have eventually been noticed in a way besides in hindsight, but it wasn’t, not until it was almost grotesquely unavoidably obvious. Some might describe it as tragic, but Heavy would mostly just describe it as a personal failing that he didn’t notice and intervene sooner.

He should’ve noticed that the dark circles under Medic’s eyes were getting darker, from simple marks of age to a signifier that perhaps he’d been too invested in his work to go to sleep on time for a night or two and then at some point to so dark they might have been mistaken for bruises.

He should’ve noticed that Medic’s posture had shifted from crisp and ramrod-straight to looser and lower, his movements changing from confident if erratic to downright jerky and unnatural. Rather than cheering and shouting his excitement with the rest of the team to join the fray and jump into battle, he had started simply telling them to hurry up, barking out his usual warnings with less humor and lightheartedness or even comical levels of borderline maternal concern, instead frantic at best and angry at worst.

He should’ve noticed that Medic was spending less time crooning and having one-sided humorous dialogues with his birds when Heavy was in the room, spending less time paying attention to the birds in general, silent and almost too-still, face locked in a tight lack of expression.

To be fair, he did notice before the major fallout itself occurred, albiet so very shortly before. He noticed the fact that Medic showed up to battle with his trademark crisp white coat in a much more ruffled and rumbled condition, his hair slightly out of order and his glasses slightly dirty and smudged. And then he noticed and realized all those other things one after another, with mounting concern, but then battle was starting and he had no time to address it.

After battle he’d forgotten for a while, preoccupied by other thoughts of other things, and only remembered it later that night, at which point he considered his options for a long while before eventually deciding to follow his gut and go check on Medic.

The hallway before the infirmary was entirely silent and very dim, late evening settling into view across the base, the general chaos the team tended to create starting to subside in the wake of sunset. 

Usually, Medic could be assumed to be up to any number of things, but most often a specific few. Working on getting black market animal organs, or doing basic caretaking for his multitude of doves, or working with some cadaver or other probably bloody experiment. Every once and a while he was locked away in the room offshooting from the infirmary that was likely meant to be used as a ward, brewing up more of the healing vapor he used in his Medigun (the recipe and process of which was a very closely guarded secret).

But oddly enough, this time he had out chemistry equipment.

Heavy hesitated at the door. Usually Medic would acknowledge him—or anyone else entering his space—the moment they showed up, always very aware of any given space that he was in. But he remained hunched over whatever he was working on.

Heavy stood there for a few moments, observing a series of other things that weren’t quite right since suddenly his attention was on it. For one thing, his birds weren’t crowded up around him and his work, and were instead all up among the rafters, practically out of sight and very quiet. For another, Medic hadn’t even taken off his coat and gloves, something usually standard for him once he was in his lab space. And often Medic had music playing and spoke quickly and quietly to himself or his patient or his birds as he worked, but instead now he was silent.

Heavy moved forward carefully, slowly, navigating his way towards Medic as well as he could. Glanced over what Medic was working on—something with test tubes, something being portioned out, maybe. In the harsh light of the overhead, his dark circles seemed so much more pronounced.

Medic finally seemed to take notice of him in his periphery and jolted bodily, flinching back with a sharp yelp of panic. He practically tripped over himself as he reared away, and Heavy flinched too in shock and surprise as Medic’s flailing ended up knocking beakers and test tubes and measuring implements alike to the ground to shatter, and in only a few seconds the area had gone to one of calm and silence and light disarray to glass shards and spilled chemicals and Medic holding his bonesaw up before himself defensively, back pressed to the counter, eyes wide and chest heaving, looking entirely like a caged animal.

It took Medic a few seconds too long to visibly shake off his panic and fear, blinking a few times to orient himself again, glancing around their immediate area with clear embarrassment. “Ah, Heavy,” he managed, voice wobbling a little, unable to meet Heavy’s eyes. “I... did not hear you enter. You startled me.”

“Heavy noticed,” he said slowly, still surprised but trying very hard not to sound too terribly judging about it.

Medic put his bonesaw back down with a shaking hand, straightening up, belatedly noticing the mess he’d made in his moment of panic, across the floor and across himself. “Did you... need something?” he asked, visibly disoriented and rattled but clearly trying to seem more composed.

“Just... to check on you,” Heavy said, tone even and calm.

“I don’t need checking up on, Heavy,” Medic said, speaking just a touch too quickly and still not entirely meeting his eyes.

“Is just that Doktor has been acting strange and Heavy worries,” he elaborated carefully, gesturing at himself loosely. “About team and about friends especially.”

“It is appreciated but entirely unnecessary thank you,” Medic said firmly, and still, still wouldn’t look at Heavy, eyes locked on the broken glass between them, and Heavy was having a little trouble reading his expression. It was something strange and new, something he hadn’t seen Medic wearing before, but finally he managed to place what emotion he was displaying, and it caught him by surprise.

Something like guilt.

Heavy looked over the remainder of the setup that Medic had been working with, this time more critically. “What is this?” he asked simply, gesturing at the surviving parts of whatever the experiment or project was and the glass on the floor.

Medic flinched a little at the question. “A personal project. Of no concern to you,” he said, voice clipped.

“Maybe a little concern to me,” Heavy tried, an attempt at a joke. “As your friend.”

“Of no concern to you,” Medic repeated, voice migrating from clipped directly over into blatantly cold.

Heavy blinked at it, a stab of hurt worming into his chest and making his expression fall. His jaw went tight. “Fine,” he said, letting his anger take hold for a moment and turning away decisively. “Then Heavy will see Doktor tomorrow.”

He heard Medic sigh harshly before the door fell closed behind him.

He would end up wishing, later on, that he’d kept a level head. Pressed harder, asked more questions. Because he should’ve been more worried than angry, surely, at Medic startling so badly. He should’ve been more worried at Medic dodging questions when usually he was so enthusiastic about rambling about his projects. He should’ve been more worried at the doves not choosing to be all over whatever Medic was doing, or even nearby him.

The next morning, Medic wasn’t at breakfast, which wasn’t strange—he almost never was. Didn’t turn up with the larger part of the team before the match of the day, which was also fair, he tended to do most of his getting ready in the privacy of his own space.

Twenty minutes until the match was meant to start, and Medic wasn’t there, which was strange. He always showed up at least twenty minutes early to set up his weapons and make sure they were in order, to calibrate the Medigun. But maybe he was just running a little late—not usually this late, admittedly, but it was possible, even if it was a first.

But Heavy couldn’t shake a feeling of unease, regardless.

Fifteen minutes until the match was meant to start, and Heavy was elbowed in the upper arm, and startled back out of his thoughts to look for the source.

Scout was giving him a look of mild confusion. “Yo, what’s your deal?” he asked, tone lighthearted. “You’re actin’ like a total space cadet, big guy. What’s up?”

Heavy gave him a look of confusion at the colloquialism, not entirely familiar with it. Scout rolled his eyes.

“Means you’re not paying attention to nothin’. Spacing out. Lookin’ off and gettin’ all up in your own head about stuff,” he elaborated, even if he sighed a bit dramatically at needing to explain.

“Ah,” Heavy nodded, understanding and feeling a little bashful. “Just... thinking.”

Scout was still squinting at him a little bit, as if suspicious. He glanced back towards the room at large as there was a sudden noise, distracted for a moment, before he blinked, standing up straight. “Oh, what, is it ‘cause the Doc ain’t here yet?” he asked outright as it occurred to him.

Heavy nodded after a moment.

Scout rocked on his heels a few times, nodding to himself. “Yeah, hey, that ain’t like him,” Scout seemed to decide. “What’s got him late?”

Heavy frowned at him.

“I mean, you’d be the one to know,” Scout shrugged. “Figured I’d ask.”

“I do not know,” Heavy said, and maybe some bitterness crept into his tone, because Scout’s eyebrows shot up and he promptly removed himself from the conversation.

At the ten minute mark, Heavy could hear the other mercenaries starting to notice too, talking amongst themselves quietly but casually. He didn’t bother overtly listening in or moving to join the conversation, just continuing to look off into middle distance as he listened to them talking.

“Think he’s gone and slept in?” Demo mused.

“That would be a first,” Spy snorted.

“Weren’t at breakfast, then?” Sniper asked quietly. “Nobody seen him today?”

A chorus of “no”s from the team at large.

“And, uh, the big guy hasn’t either,” Scout added helpfully. “Hey, maybe someone should go check on him.”

“He’s cutting it awful close,” the Engineer hesitantly agreed. “If he has slept in, he’d need to wake up right about now if he’s gonna make it at all, let alone all prim and proper. Who’s gonna go check up on him? We could send the big guy.”

Some kind of noise and motion from Scout.

“...Alright, well, any volunteers?”

“I’ll go,” Spy finally said with a sigh. “Keep radios on, I’ll call in. Do not press the button.”

Heavy went cold, suddenly remembering the button in question.

They were hired mercenaries, and the large majority of them were... somewhat unstable. There were a few measures in place to make sure that nobody was doing anything... ill-advised. Their being stationed so far from civilization, and their work lives being scheduled to take up so much of their time, and a series of buttons around the base in case of a few emergency situations.

Obviously there were some for fires, earthquakes, or other disasters. Explosions, power outages, and other things of that nature. Then there were buttons for break-ins, stolen briefcases, sieges, assassination attempts.

Then there were a few for a couple of very specific instances. For a member of the team betraying the rest of them. For a member of the team being fired or quitting. And lastly, there was a button that was shared for two purposes—for any given member of the team not showing up to battle by the five-minute mark before prep time was set to begin, and for any given member of the team going officially AWOL. If they didn’t show up for work on time, they were to be presumed missing, and therefore presumed to be making a break for it.

There was exactly one other situation where something like this had happened—a brief power outage on the base had resulted in several people’s clocks getting reset, and the few who had purely mechanical clocks had needed to wake up the rest of the team, and they’d forgotten to wake up Scout. They met him halfway, finding him already booking it to try and get there on time, and had needed to collectively “forget” to call in that he wasn’t there on time, letting him show up a few minutes late (and promptly wheedling assorted favors out of him to continue to “forget”).

Spy left, and the rest of the team returned to regular everyday conversation, some kind of bickering between Demo and Soldier and Engineer, goaded on by Scout and Pyro. Heavy checked the clock every ten seconds or so.

At the six minute mark, an alarm started blaring.

Jolting and jumping and cries of surprise from the rest of the team, sudden very loud noises being one thing that professional killers tended to be bad at handling. Then looks of shock and surprise between all of them. Heavy felt sick.

“You don’t think...?” Demo trailed, and then they were all looking for the readout to figure out which alarm this one was, entirely unfamiliar with it. Heavy felt his blood go cold as he caught a glimpse of it.

“ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT—MEDIC”

In the mad dash to get to the infirmary to investigate, Heavy was among the last to make it, much slower than the rest of the team. When he got there, he found the team arguing with Spy, who was blocking the door and didn’t seem particularly keen on moving any time in the near future.

Until he looked up and saw Heavy, that is. Then he jerked his head, gesturing for Heavy to go inside, continuing to argue with the team, who all seemed to be in varying degrees of worried and alarmed.

Spy shut and barred the door behind them and gestured for Heavy to follow.

The setup from the night before was still there, test tubes and beakers, with the mess already apparently long since cleaned up. There was also a small tray of assorted basic medical equipment that Heavy could never remember the names for. But he noticed that Spy looked shaken just a few moments before he rounded the table and saw—

He was on his knees and speaking frantically before he even processed what he was looking at. Medic, on the ground, lying on his side, limp and lifeless. Heavy shook him by the shoulders, absolute unadulterated panic rising up into his chest and spilling out through his mouth in the form of frantic speaking, borderline shouting.

He demanded answers from Spy several times before he looked up and saw the confusion on Spy’s face and realized he wasn’t speaking English. He forced himself to slow down.

“What happened here?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Spy replied, clearly troubled. “He has a pulse still, and his breathing is fine, but he won’t wake up.”

Heavy looked down at Medic, alarmed beyond reason, and shook him again, shouted his title again. No response.

“I can’t be entirely sure, but despite my setting off that particular alarm, I don’t think that this was foul play, mon ami,” Spy said grimly, putting a hand on Heavy’s shoulder.

Heavy shot him a confused look, and Spy moved to carefully pick up something from the table—a syringe.

“I found this next to him,” he said, tilting it in his hand. “I am not presently sure what was in it. But if I had to guess... I think he might’ve injected himself with it.”

Heavy felt horror gnawing at him, biting a gaping hole into his gut. Because that wasn’t like Medic. He didn’t often test things on himself. His Medigun and other such implements, yes. But for other things, he always went to the rest of the team. And Heavy didn’t even know what any of this stuff on the table was.

And then he realized the worst part of all of this. Whenever there was an emergency like this, on or off the field, during work or during leisure time, in any situation at all, Medic was the one who tended to solve it. Sometimes with the help of the Engineer, or Demoman, or Heavy, depending on what the situation called for, but he was always the one there to fix it, to think things through and find a solution—often unorthodox, but always effective.

And now that Medic was the one hurt, who would be the one to help them?

-

Miss Pauling showed up within the hour, and was apparently given the run-down on what had happened. It was agreed between Spy and Heavy that their story would be that the syringe had been found several feet away from Medic on the floor and that Spy “very much suspected foul play”, just in case Medic had indeed made some kind of misstep himself that he could get in trouble for. Miss Pauling then apparently promised to investigate and get back to them on it. She apparently offered to find some other medical professional to help them, but admitted that it would probably take at least a day to get someone to the base, and Spy had turned down the offer.

Over the course of the first three hours, the rest of the team had all dispersed and gone to do other things. Medic had been moved to one of the cots he kept stored away in a half-hearted “ward”, and the Engineer and Demo combined had managed to fiddle and figure their way through finding and using some of the more basic medical equipment, and had hooked Medic up to a heartbeat monitor after the fifth time in twenty minutes that someone became convinced that he was dead, unable to feel his pulse or see his breathing.

Soldier had made a point, once the chaos had died down a little. Had pointed out that really, they could send Medic through Respawn and that would potentially solve this problem. But the Engineer hadn’t looked so sure, and so Heavy had immediately and firmly protested the idea until it was dropped again.

No further conversations needed to take place to determine that Heavy would be the one to stick around and wait for Medic to wake up.

Heavy ended up grabbing one of his books from the bookshelf that he’d previously left in the lab, still sitting there at the bedside but at least having something to occupy his mind while he waited so he wouldn’t go entirely crazy. For the most part he tended to get lost in his reading, and time often slipped by in the blink of an eye, but this time he found himself looking up every few minutes or so regardless, eyes darting up for a moment either to the heartbeat monitor or to Medic himself.

It was unsettling. He was glad they’d set up the monitor, because otherwise Heavy would surely be checking his breathing every few minutes. He was pale, almost sickly-looking, and his dark circles beyond pronounced. He looked like a corpse, almost. The sight of him like that shook Heavy deeply, more deeply than he could or would ever admit.

Around midday, Demo dropped by to check up on them, and to readjust the heartbeat monitor. At some point, the Engineer stopped by to bring Heavy something to eat, and to check for any updates. There were none. Medic hadn’t moved.

Heavy needed to get up to turn on a light when the sun finally set, and to pick up a different book. To pace for a little while. He fed the birds, made sure they had fresh water. But then he sat back down, forced himself to take a few deep breaths, to stay calm. Medic’s heartbeat was steady, as was his breathing. He wasn’t getting any worse. He just needed to be patient.

Heavy glanced up at the heartbeat monitor an hour later, squinting suspiciously, watching as it started picking up speed a bit. The number on the screen slowly started ticking up, and Heavy felt his concern rising alongside it. He hesitated for a while before closing his book and setting it aside, unsure of exactly what to do. After a moment he went with his gut instinct, leaning forward and gently shaking Medic on the shoulder.

“Doktor?” he asked, working hard to keep his voice level. He swallowed hard when he heard the monitor pick up even further. “Medic?” he tried again, shaking a bit harder, volume rising slightly.

Almost all at once, a shift, a movement, a change in Medic’s expression. Then Medic seemed to be fighting hard to open his eyes, to move, to sit up.

“Was? Was is los?” he managed, words slurring together and tumbling awkwardly as he blinked a few times, visibly disoriented. He seemed to be trying to shift his arms, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Medic?” Heavy asked again, shocked beyond words to see Medic moving.

A quiet scoff from Medic. “Ja, ja, what? What is going on?” he asked, sounding oddly exasperated, still trying to move. “What do you want?”

Heavy forced himself to blink, to respond. “You’re awake,” he observed, not quite able to string words together just yet.

“I’m awake,” Medic agreed, even as he swayed, blinked hard, “what did you need? What is wrong?”

“Wrong?” Heavy asked, confused even further.

“Yes, it’s all you people say, “Medic, Medic”, over and over, it’s infuriating,” the doctor rambled, words tumbling a bit again, and he managed to get a hand to Heavy’s arm, pushing on it and heaving himself up just a bit. “What is it? What did you need help with?”

“No, no, no help,” Heavy assured quickly, and moved to push on Medic’s shoulders. “Doktor should lay back down and rest. He is not well.”

“I’m fine,” Medic said flippantly, even as he fell like a sack of potatoes at the lightest push, and couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. “I’ll be fine. I’m just tired.”

“Rest more,” Heavy insisted, worry creeping back into view. “Doktor... does not remember?”

“What do...?” Medic started, and trailed for a few moments, drifting, before shaking himself what small amount he was able. “What? What do you mean?”

Heavy went to explain, but then he observed the crease in Medic’s brow, the cold sweat beading his face, the paleness of him, and he backtracked. “Nevermind. Later. Is Doktor comfortable?”

Medic seemed to think it over. “Yes. Cold, I suppose,” he amended. He squinted up at Heavy for a moment. “I’m... in a bed?”

“Yes. But it is night time. Go to sleep,” Heavy urged, even if he didn’t want to, even if he wanted Medic to jump to his feet and get right back to normal. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy, and that Medic needed rest, now.

Medic nodded distractedly, then shook his head. “No, no, I have work to do,” he protested weakly.

“First,” Heavy tried, scrambling to think of something. “Er... count backward from twenty.”

Medic huffed, and seemed to try to roll his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed, and only got to thirteen before he was out like a light.

Heavy snapped his fingers once or twice to see if Medic would react, and he didn’t, at which point he stood and went to find a teammate.

He found Spy, luckily, and quickly relayed what information he could. Medic had woken up briefly, and was too disoriented to answer any questions before he passed back out again. Spy nodded, looking a little relieved, and promised to update the rest of the team in case Heavy wanted to go and keep watch some more. Heavy thanked him.

Hours later, Medic stirred again, this time sitting up fully and starting to feebly fight his way free of his blankets for a few moments before he even managed to start speaking, but Heavy urged him to stay still, gently asked again if he remembered anything and got a non-answer in response, incoherent murmuring. He managed to get at least a full sentence out of him, Medic complaining that he was hungry. Heavy assured him that he would go get something to eat, and that it was very important that he stay put, and all but ran to the kitchen to dig up something and to return with it. He made the fastest sandwich of his entire life, and was back within ten minutes, but Medic was out again by the time he got back regardless.

Sometime around two in the morning, Heavy jolted awake from a doze at the sound of movement. Medic had sat up fully, and his eyebrows were drawn together, and his hair was sticking up oddly. It was more of a mess than Heavy had maybe ever seen him in outside of battle, and in battle it was usually an issue of blood and burns and mud and wounds, not bedhead and general dishevelment.

Medic squinted hard at him when he moved. “Heavy?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Heavy said quickly, sitting up straight.

“...Where are my glasses?” he asked. His voice was rough, but much less weak than before.

Heavy was quick to find them and pass them over, and Medic put them on, only fumbling a little bit in the process. “Doktor is hungry?” Heavy asked hesitantly, leaning and reaching for where he’d set the sandwich nearby. Medic nodded, and took it with only mild confusion, eating without protest. Heavy noted the way he seemed to wince, and quickly deduced that he was probably thirsty, and got up to fetch a cup of water. Medic took that as well, draining it in one go and then wolfing down the remainder of the sandwich with no further delay.

He set the plate aside, frowning, glancing around the infirmary. Heavy could see the cogs turning in his head. “...What time is it?” Medic asked.

Heavy leaned to try and get a glance at a clock. “Almost three,” he finally said.

Medic frowned harder. “...And what day is it?”

Heavy sighed, running his hand over his own head, slumping a little. “You were asleep for a full day,” he said, understanding what Medic really meant by that question.

A vague kind of alarm from Medic.

“What happened?” Heavy asked, cutting right to the point. After nearly a full day of panic, he thought he was entitled to be a little blunt.

Medic examined the situation for a few more moments, thought for a few more moments, before he sighed, apparently giving in. “Apparently, a failed experiment,” he said bitterly.

Heavy frowned.

Medic shifted, took stock of his surroundings briefly. Pushed his glasses up. “...You do not seem terribly panicked,” he observed.

“Doktor has already woken up twice,” Heavy said carefully.

Medic cringed. “Ugh. Did I say anything?”

“No, mostly... too disoriented to speak,” Heavy said. “What happened?”

“Well. What I was attempting to do, and presumably did a very bad job of, was make a sort of... anesthesia. Something that would be extremely effective at knocking someone entirely unconscious into a very deep sleep, which they could then wake up from eight or so hours later, perhaps more or less time depending on dosage.”

Heavy nodded, following along as best he could and trying to piece together the rest. “...And Doktor tested this on himself?” he asked.

“Ja, to make the long story short.”

“Why? Why did you make this?” Heavy asked, still confused, because Medic had said multiple times before that he thought anasthesia for surgeries was unnecessary when he had the Medigun.

Medic’s jaw tightened. “Not important,” he said.

Heavy sighed hard, dragging a hand down over his face. “Doktor, you have a badly scared team,” he said, sharp and short. “All very frightened by this. We deserve real explanations.”

Medic looked at him for a long few moments, the cogs in his head whirring too fast for most to keep up with, but Heavy was fairly sure he could follow along once he understood a few more things.

First, that Medic was looking a little bit better, once he woke up. Better than normal. Less ragged, even though he clearly would be needing a shave at some point.

Second, that Medic had seemed genuinely surprised for a second to hear that the team had been worried about him.

Third, that the expression on his face could be described as guilt, which Heavy had only seen him wear exactly once before, twenty-four hours prior.

Medic broke eye contact, glared off out into the infirmary. The doves were rattling a tray of surgical equipment across the room.

“I was attempting to make a sleeping aid,” Medic finally admitted.

A few moments to make a series of connections before Heavy spoke. “...For yourself?” he asked, just for clarification’s sake.

“Ja. For myself.”

“Doktor is having trouble sleeping?” he asked, more gently now.

“Stop that,” Medic said, tone absolutely biting, and Heavy recoiled a little bit. Medic promptly exhaled, eyes falling closed, that guilt back full force. “I... I meant... just, don’t use that tone. I do not need to be babied, I am a fully grown man. Yes, I have been... having trouble sleeping. And it began to interfere with my work.”

“What is problem?” Heavy asked, careful to keep his tone even.

“I am unable to stay asleep for any period of time. Falling asleep is fairly easy, but once I’m out I am woken almost immediately.”

His tone was beyond the clear-cut clinical kind that he wore when explaining most things, it was outright cold, derogatory even, and Heavy felt indignant for a moment before realizing the tone wasn’t directed at him. Medic was glaring down at his own hands.

“I understand all of the symptoms I am experiencing, and why they are there, and what is causing them, but still I...” Medic visibly forced himself to take a breath as his voice started rising. When he spoke again, it was even and level. “I understand now what I did wrong, and rest assured, it will not happen again.”

“How bad were sleeping troubles to make this happen?” Heavy asked, still incredulous.

Medic’s shoulders sank. He continued looking everywhere but at Heavy. “I have not gotten more than a total of seven hours of sleep per week for the last month,” he said quietly.

Heavy’s blood ran cold.

Medic sighed, pushing his glasses up to knead at the bridge of his nose viciously. “And this has happened before, is not terribly unusual, but also I’ve been feeling extremely nauseous at all hours of the day and so I haven’t been eating more than one or two meals at most, and being hungry makes my mood flare unexpectedly, and so I dive into work to sort through it, and then I’ve missed out on more meals and more sleep and I’m—“

Medic cut himself off cold. Glared off at nothing, into the darkness of the infirmary, with more blatant and fiery disgust and anger than Heavy had ever seen him in, even in the worst of his temper in the height of battle. It was a little frightening.

But that fear was overshadowed by concern, because his eyes were shining, tears more visible against the contrast of the bags under Medic’s eyes.

“I’m just... tired, Heavy,” Medic admitted, like a Herculean effort, worse than pulling teeth, worse than open heart surgery, and it made sense that it was so cleary difficult for Medic to say, because Heavy realized all at once that it was the first time Medic had ever said something like that.

Medic never complained. Chided, of course, and lectured, and occasionally berated, but never complained. Not of hunger, or fatigue, or heat, or cold, or anything at all. Not when he was bleeding profusely from bullet wounds or shrapnel, not when the team ate all of the food at dinner without leaving any for him because he hardly ever showed up anyways, not when it was clear he’d been woken up twice and three times during the night to deal with injuries from various shenanigans.

He was always there to fix their problems, to check in on the team, to notice one too many yawns, or unnatural flushes as symptoms to fevers or overheating in the desert sun, or stumbling, or having apparently forgotten to eat breakfast. He kept everyone in shape, kept the whole team on top of taking care of themselves as best they could, and made up the extra distance for them when they slipped. Gave them modified hearts and healed their wounds and chided them to make sure to eat dinner and get their sleep and wash their hands and to smoke and drink just slightly less.

And Heavy realized, all at once, that they never gave him that courtesy in return.

He, Heavy, was there to listen to Medic, to hear him talking about things, to be there for him in many ways emotionally, but when was the last time he’d asked about Medic’s well-being outside of a cursory greeting?

He pieced together all at once Medic not showing up for breakfast or dinner, and missing lunch during battle to hunt down teammates who’d been downed and needed help. Medic always staying up so late working and getting up so early to get ready for work on time.

He was fairly certain that Medic would literally give an arm and a leg to any teammate who so much as asked. And none of them ever so much as given him the courtesy or wondering if he was alright. Because they assumed that Medic was somehow managing to take care of himself, on top of his taking care of all eight of them.

Heavy leaned in and pulled Medic into a hug.

Medic stiffened, clearly confused, unsure of what to do. “...Heavy?”

“I am sorry, Doktor,” Heavy rumbled, throat feeling a little tight. “I am sorry that this happened. We... help to figure something out,” he promised. “We are a team, we will look out for each other. And Doktor looks after all of us the most, and so we should look after Doktor the most. Credit to team. We will help. I will help.”

“...Thank you, Heavy,” Medic said slowly, a weight to it, and managed an awkward sort of pat, as if trying to comfort him, still, even then, waking up in a hospital bed of sorts with no memory of the previous day.

He finally pulled back, glancing Medic up and down. “Is there anything Doktor needs?” he asked.

Medic shook his head, adjusted his glasses again. “I can handle myself now, I think,” he said with an air of finality, starting to free himself from the blankets he’d been lumped under.

Heavy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a hard look. Medic faltered. Deflated.

“...Water would be appreciated,” he mumbled, and Heavy nodded, standing to go get him a cup.

-

Heavy was the one to update Miss Pauling the next day, to tell her that Medic had woken up at some point but would be needing an additional day to recover. She hadn’t asked any further questions, just nodding and handing him a thin file to give to Spy when he had the chance.

He did so an hour later at breakfast.

He first handed the folder off to Spy, who thanked him, then went to go get himself a plate of food. Medic had dozed off again at some point, and it would probably be a good idea to eat while he had the chance. As much as Medic kept insisting that he could do things on his own, when he’d briefly gone to get a change of clothes he’d wobbled severely and gone very pale the moment he stood up and tried to walk, so Heavy was fairly certain he’d be spending another day in the infirmary helping him with things while he recovered a bit more. And to be honest, the chairs in the infirmary were extremely uncomfortable, so he’d appreciate sitting somewhere else for a while.

Once he sat down, he was bombarded with questions by the rest of the team.

“Has he woken up yet?” Scout asked, curious.

“Do you know what happened?” Demo asked, concerned.

“Anythin’ we can do to help?” Engie asked, earnest.

Heavy hesitated in a couple of ways, partially because he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer, partially because he wasn’t entirely sure with what all Medic would want him to say. He confirmed that Medic had woken up a few times, for a few minutes the first times then for a few hours the next. He made brief eye contact with Spy before explaining that they were going to continue telling Miss Pauling they didn’t know what happened, and that Medic knew that as well, but that in reality he’d made a mistake with an experiment and he’d need another day or so to recover.

On the last question, he hesitated for quite some time before answering.

“If any help is needed, I will ask,” Heavy said slowly. “But... maybe we need to be better to Doktor.”

Sounds of confusion and question from the table at large.

“Medic always works very hard,” Heavy elaborated carefully. “Takes care of team, keeps us safe and healthy. Makes sure we are all okay. Maybe... we could be better at watching out for Doktor too.”

A few nods and sounds of agreement. “Not sure he’d take too well to us nagging him, though,” Engie said.

“Maybe no nagging. But... letting him know we can notice he is not well, and that we want him to be well,” Heavy elaborated. “Heavy can do nagging.”

“So, what’s the story we’re tellin’ Miss P? Still the, uh, the old ‘whoops, someone tried to kill him, ain’t that a shame’ thing?” Scout asked.

“Yes.”

“If you would like, we can take turns in bringing food to the infirmary,” Spy offered. “If you do not particularly feel like being there the entire day.”

“Will be there to keep Doktor company anyways, but maybe it will help to have team stopping by,” Heavy agreed.

They started sorting out a schedule for that, of who would be dropping by when, inventing some excuses for people to come by the infirmary and kick around for a while to keep things interesting. A few minutes in, Pyro dropped by to join planning, and Sniper showed up half an hour later and was talked at for about twenty minutes before he managed to extract himself long enough to at least grab his coffee.

And over the course of the rest of the day, Medic’s continuous complaints about being bedridden eventually started to fade away under the weight of the team’s shenanigans. The Engineer dropped by and they talked over some more Medigun and Dispenser redesigns for quite a while, and Spy brought by a newspaper at some point and they had a lengthy discussion in German about assorted European politics and recent news. Different pairs of teammates dropped by a few times over the course of the day with assorted food and drink, Demo and Scout doing so after apparently using their time off to drive all the way to civilization to get some bad diner food, and bringing back leftovers for Heavy and Medic.

Shortly after Soldier and Pyro stepped out, having dropped off an earnest and surprisingly successful attempt at them baking apple pie for the two of them to get a taste of, Medic looked over at Heavy, a little suspicious. “So what exactly did you tell them?” he asked outright.

Heavy blinked, felt himself flushing a little. “...What do you mean?” he asked anyways.

Medic rolled his eyes. “Clearly you told them something. The entire team didn’t simply unanimously decide to come by to try and do whatever all of this is.”

Heavy shrugged after a moment’s consideration. “Just that all day I would be here to help if Doktor needed it,” he said, which wasn’t untrue, just not the full truth.

And Medic seemed to suspect that, but he didn’t say anything, just tucking back into the food.

At some point, Medic took a brief nap. Not brief in the usual sense, brief in that he shook awake with no small amount of thrashing and panic about twenty minutes into falling asleep. He waved off Heavy’s concern and tried to go back to sleep again, and it repeated. A third time. A fourth time.

By then, it was getting late. Medic said he promised that he wouldn’t get up and do any moving around or anything if Heavy wanted to go and sleep in his own room instead of sleeping in a chair again.

But he hesitated when he said it, and Heavy couldn’t help but ask about it.

It was with great difficulty and a lot of careful wording that Medic admitted that usually he didn’t even get those twenty minutes of sleep before he woke up again. Usually it was five or ten at most, and then he couldn’t fall back asleep again. But he felt mildly comforted in some ways because he knew—

And that was where he cut himself off, refused to say more for a long few minutes. When he finally spoke again, he wouldn’t look at Heavy, head tucked forward, staring very pointedly at nothing.

He finally admitted, he felt mildly comforted in some ways because he knew that he was safe, with Heavy there.

Heavy didn’t need to hear any more than that. He pulled over one of the gurneys and slept on that for the night, and every night after that until Medic was fully, entirely recovered.

-

“Doktor?” Heavy called, pushing into the infirmary and glancing around. “Team time.”

“Ja, ja, one moment,” Medic said, waving him off with one hand, the other pouring birdseed into the little feeder he kept for his doves. He brushed his thumb over Archimedes’s head to dislodge some kind of dust or mess, tsk’ing him quietly, before setting the bird down and scooping up his coat on the way to the door. “What is breakfast?”

“Engineer makes, er... toast, with egg and cinnamon,” Heavy explained, looking down at the food in question, the name escaping him momentarily as he picked up the Medigun and starting to walk, Medic on his heels.

“French toast?” Medic supplied, moving to pull on his coat, glancing backwards to check that the infirmary door closed behind him.

“No, it was Engineer who made it, not Spy,” Heavy joked, and was promptly scoffed at and elbowed, Medic falling into step beside him. Once Medic had done up his coat, Heavy handed him the slices, and Medic ate them quickly and efficiently, brushing his hands off before he took the Medigun from Heavy. “Did Doktor get enough sleep?”

“More than usual,” Medic agreed, sounding pleased.

“Good,” Heavy nodded, holding the door for Medic as they got to the hall to the locker rooms. “Sleep is important.”

“I know, Heavy,” Medic said, rolling his eyes a little, “I do not need to be babied.”

“Is not babying, Doktor is not a baby,” Heavy protested. “Is caring about teammate and friend.”

Medic rolled his eyes again, but despite his best efforts, Heavy just barely caught a glimpse of a smile on his face, and that was enough.

“Hey, Doc! Sup, Heavy!” Scout called as they entered the locker room, and the rest of the team called out similar greetings. Heavy just nodded at them and Medic gave a small wave as he went to get the rest of his equipment, Heavy splitting off to do the same.

“How’re you doin’, Doc?” Engie asked cheerfully, lacing up his boots.

“Fine, fine,” Medic said. “Yourself?”

“Alright. Enjoy the breakfast?”

“It was good, although I’m not entirely sure I’ll ever get used to how much butter and fat people in America use on everything,” Medic admitted.

“I said the same thing,” Spy chimed in from nearby, startling Heavy slightly, who hadn’t noticed he was there.

“Well, Heavy’s not an American either, and he liked it well enough,” Engie defended, and Heavy nodded his agreement.

“It is more energy to fight better,” Heavy said simply. “Is not a bad thing.”

“It is important to eat healthy foods and get a balanced diet,” Medic said almost mechanically, automatically.

“But it’s more important to eat at all,” Engie pointed out.

Medic didn’t have a good rebuttal for that.

And he didn’t say it out loud, because Heavy knew that to push too far would feel patronizing, but he did notice some things just then, watching Medic calibrating the Medigun. How sharp and clear his focus seemed to be. His dark circles were nearly gone. His face had a healthy amount of color, and his posture was straight but relaxed, almost effortless, and his movements were efficient. And when he looked over at Heavy to check that he was ready to go, his voice was crisp, unwavering, and there was life there behind his eyes. Really, genuinely, life there behind his eyes.

And he knew there would be slumps, next time Medic picked up a project or something went wrong or they had one day of losses too many. But maybe it was worth all this work just to have a moment or two of seeing that life there.

Just maybe.

[lostgirlrewatch]

1x11 - Faetal Justice (gettin real tired of your puns, Michelle, jk I never will)

Written by: Peter Mohan

Directed by: Robert Lieberman

Original Air Date: November 28, 2010

Oops. I missed a week. Sorry :( I’m back with episode 1x11.

Dyson gets framed for murdering some Dark Fae, and the gang has to prove him innocent.

Hey, remember the club, guys? Remember what that was like? Also Vex is back. Yay.

I wish my kitchen looked that fancy. I can’t keep vegetables that fresh. Their setup only looks like it will produce tasty food, though, because apparently they can’t cook for shit.

I am excited enough to see Hale that I took this screenshot for no reason.

But anyway, Bo and Kenzi are of course investigating the crime, as they do, while Dyson invokes sanctuary back at the Dal. Which basically means that Trick clears the whole bar out and lets Dyson hang out there for some amount of time where the Dark Fae can’t immediately come after him for killing one of their own.

They end up back at the club that Dyson woke up next to, which is Vex’s club. They start to suspect Vex may have something to do with framing Dyson for the murder. I can’t imagine why.

Vex makes a comment about how “another killer in the room (Bo) adds to the excitement,” to which Kenzi fiercely replies that Bo isn’t a killer. Vex is skeptical, considering how many people she has killed over the years, and suggests that he and Bo compare “scores.”

That hit below the belt.

Evony arrives at the Dal to pick up Dyson, in spite of sanctuary, because she has decided that the rules don’t apply to her. “Just think of me as a VIP,” she says. “I do.”

What a queen. Listen, is she wrong? Do the rules apply to Evony? Need they?

She has such queen energy that I love every time she shows up, even if she does absolutely nothing except make snarky comments. You have to appreciate the dominating energy of the woman in charge of the entire darker half of the supernatural underworld. She eventually backs off though.

Meanwhile, to Bo’s surprise, Lauren shows up at the precinct to discuss the case with her and Hale. (Hale invited her, and didn’t think to tell either of them that the other would be there, because he has no idea what’s going on between them.)

Bo is still pissed as fuck. I didn’t bother getting a screenshot, but the glare she gives Lauren is just as withering as it was last time.

So Lauren does...science-y stuff, I guess. I don’t really listen to what she’s saying when she talks about her science shit. I think Lauren is suggesting that Dyson turn himself in to the Dark Fae, though? So they can compare bite marks or something? Okay, I just rewatched the scene. Lauren suggests that Dyson turn himself in and wait while they go through a whole forensics analysis of the scene to determine his innocence (not acknowledging the possibility that evidence against Dyson may have been planted). Bo is like, “fuck no.” Lauren claims that in spite of the fact that she and Dyson “haven’t always been on the best of terms,” she is “actually trying to help here.”

It doesn’t end well. It’s awkward.

Hmm...*narrows eyes* Wait.

Stick around, Lauren fans. You’ll love this. I’m analyzing Lauren.

Lauren’s solutions to problems are always very...clinical. They’re clinical without fail, often to the point of being...not good solutions.

Lauren’s solution to Dyson’s problem--being accused of murder--is to have him turn himself in so that they can run tests and have the evidence prove him innocent. This is such a clearly half-assed idea, I don’t even really know why she suggested it. This idea is like if you could not care less about Dyson or this entire situation at all but you were dragged into being a part of the brainstorming session and you were forced to contribute something. It scans as laziness. Like either Lauren’s brain is too exhausted to put any energy whatsoever into trying to help Dyson, or she actually doesn’t care about him at all and is only there out of obligation and because of Bo. Hm.

Lauren’s solutions to problems don’t just rely on science, I get she’s a scientist and those are the skills she brings to the table. She goes a step farther. Her solutions are always devoid of emotion. Think about why that is.

I mean, turning Dyson in to the Dark Fae is objectively a terrible idea, first of all because they would one hundred percent immediately string him up and torture him for information. (Which is exactly what they do later in the episode!) Lauren is not stupid. She’s a smart gal. She should know this. If she knows that Dyson would be tortured, why would she suggest he turn himself in unless she has absolutely no emotional investment in his physical or mental wellbeing whatsoever? Again, it’s a clinical solution that treats the people involved as though they are pieces in a puzzle.

Second of all, Lauren suggests they run a bunch of tests and rely on forensic evidence to determine whether or not Dyson is innocent. She says, “Hopefully [the animal hairs on the body] won’t match Dyson’s DNA, and hopefully we’ll get [the results] on time.” 

“That’s way too many ‘hopefully’s,” Bo snaps back.

Lauren doesn’t seem that concerned with whether the hairs do or don’t match Dyson’s DNA. I mean, “hopefully” they won’t, but she is content to take the risk, let the situation play out, and let the evidence speak.

But she is also completely ignoring the possibility that even if the evidence incriminates Dyson, it might have been planted there by whoever is trying to frame him. What then? There would be no way to prove that it was planted in time--the Dark Fae would instantly execute him, and no one could stop them because he’d be in their custody. Even a cursory review of Lauren’s half-assed, not-thought-out plan reveals that it’s past risky and more in the realm of stupid.

So you tell me. I’m more interested in hearing what anyone else has to say about her than writing what I think. What is the deal with Lauren? Why is she like this? Is she so cold and unfeeling that she doesn’t have any concern for the physical and emotional wellbeing of others? Does she just not give a fuck about Dyson specifically? Or is she so burnt out and exhausted by the mental strain of her job and her enslavement that she can’t summon any emotional energy whatsoever, and has to completely rely on cold logic to offer anything at all?

I said Lauren fans would like this because I was analyzing her, but I neglected to mention that I would also be dunking on her. Sorry if you were duped. I feel like I offered her a way out at the end there, though. Give me all your pro-Lauren arguments if you feel so inclined.

Anyway, Bo and Hale have a nice little mini-conversation afterwards. Hale confesses that he once thought Bo might be bad for Dyson, that she’d break his heart or he’d destroy himself for her.

He tells her he was wrong, and that she’s “the real deal.” How sweet.

The only witness to the crime is apparently this human girl named Porscha, who reminds Kenzi a lot of herself. Porscha is also young, on the streets, and a runaway from a bad home situation. 

I don’t really care about her or like her as a character, but I do appreciate that her presence prompts Kenzi to drop a few more tidbits of information about her past here and there. For instance, she mentions that she’s been on her own since she was 15, which seems like a long time but is actually only like four years because Kenzi is 19 and therefore a literal baby. 

More interesting is this exchange. Porscha comments that it must be nice that Kenzi and Bo have each other. Kenzi responds a little awkwardly. She agrees that it is nice, but then she says that she’s still getting used to it. She’s still getting used to “being noticed.” Because when she was at home, she says, it was always better to not be noticed. “That’s when things got ugly.”

Yeah. So as if we didn’t already know, Kenzi comes from an abusive home. A home that was so awful that it was better to run away and be on the streets at 15. Then she was completely alone for four years, and homeless for that entire time. 

Think about it. Living with Bo like this must feel so odd. Kenzi has never lived in a house with another person before where it actually felt like a home and she actually felt safe. The way she sort of averts her eyes, tenses a little bit when she says she’s still getting used to it (Ksenia is fantastic as always by the way) is such a realistic portrayal of a response to recovery from trauma.

The way I like to think of it is this. Going from being in a long-term traumatic situation to being in a safe and loving situation is kind of like putting a frostbitten hand in warm water. Warming it up is good, it’s healing, but when your hand is so used to being cold, warming it up is going to hurt like hell. Recovering from trauma is kind of like that. Good things can hurt, especially when you’re not used to them.

But it doesn’t hurt quite so bad for Kenzi that she’s ready to flee and go back to being alone the streets, which is what is familiar to her. It just seems like it’s mildly uncomfortable. And that’s good. Because it means she can get used to being loved and having a family.

Jesus, why am I writing these things every week, they’re so long. LMAO help

So the episode ends with the reveal that it was the bartender all along! GASP! Side note: the whole reason this episode happened is because this bartender, who is clearly an adult man (physically in his 20s or 30s but actually much older since I assume he’s Fae?) was apparently “in love” with the human girl Porscha, who, based on her conversations with Kenzi, is definitely supposed to be a teenager. And also based on her conversations with Kenzi, Porscha has even “stayed over a few times” at his place. Can you say creepy? Adult man taking advantage of a young girl on the street who has no family and nowhere else to go? Grooming her? Just saying.

In a moment that I find somewhat disturbing and rather cold, the main gang all walk out and leave the bartender to be (most likely) brutally tortured and murdered by Vex and the Morrigan. That’s him up there. I mean, I know the Dark Fae are a practically untouchable political powerhouse, and there’s not really anything Bo and the others could do, but still. They totally just left this guy to his death.

But significantly, the episode ends with Bo and Dyson sharing a kiss, as they reaffirm their feelings for one another, and seemingly enter an official romantic relationship.

Oh boy! How cute. :) I wonder what’s next for these two.

Surely not heartbreak and suffering?

Big plot developments of the episode: Bo and Dyson are (it’s implied) officially an item now. This is Bo’s first legit committed relationship in the series. #dybo #neverforgetwhereitallbegan #rip #F and respect to the two people and a potato chip who like this ship #will this actually tag this post

[kat-hawke]

Interviewing the Hawke at Sea

► Name ➔ “Alexa Imortis.”

“Kat Hawke.”

► Are you single? ➔ “Depends on who you ask, really. I am engaged, single, in the market, in an open relationship, courting a noble.. One really gets lost in all the story telling, hm?”

“Certainly feels like it most days.”

► Are you happy? ➔ “I suppose that I am happy enough, considering the circumstances. We are in the middle of a war, and I am still alive and relatively in one piece.”

“As the Admiral said; I’m alive, all my limbs still attached, soul in my body, avoided unwanted offspring. So, sure, I’m as happy as one can be in my position.”

► Are you angry? ➔ “Exhausted, is perhaps a better word to describe how I feel relationship to my anger. It comes and goes, though I rarely express how truly furious I am towards a situation.”

“No’ at the momen’. Ya’ll know when I am.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “Kul Tiras, Brennadam.”

“Gilneas, if that wusn’ obvious enough. City outskirts.”

“I think your accent gives that away…”

“Ya’ think?”

► Hair Color ➔ “Onyx.”

“Raven black. Ya’ have eyes do ya’ no’?”

“So many different words to describe one color.”

“She wus hotter as a blonde.”

► Eye Color ➔ “Persian blue.”

“Amber.”

► Birthday ➔ “April fifth.”

“June thirtieth.”

► Mood ➔ “Praying that this will end. Worried about the boys at home, it’s been long enough for them to get into trouble.”

“Annoyed.”

► Gender ➔ “...Female.”

“Maybe they did no’ wish to assume?”

“They might ask who is the more masculine out of the two of us next, you watch.”

“Draw straws?”

► Summer or winter ➔ “Winter. The trees are barren and snow is pure, there is a comfort in the silence that lingers after the first change of seasons.”

“I lost sensitivity to temperature sum time ago. Seasons don’ matter to me anymore. Easier to hike the trails in the summer, howeva.”

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “The break of dawn. As hours go by people tend to grow more lazy, and less productive. Try getting any shred of work done after one in the afternoon, it’s bloody impossible with the Harbormaster.”

“Always wus an early riser. As I’m sure she can attest to, she complained about it once.”

► Are your parents still married ➔ “Yes, happily enough. Then again my father long ago lost his spine, and my mother tends to remind him of that fact frequently enough. They have had their quarrels over their years, however, due to my fathers inability to keep it in his drawers.”

“Well, they’re both dead, so…” She simply shrugs. “Granted m’mother remarried much to my disapproval. Still, all dead though.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love? ➔ “Yes. Though my commitments have shifted about as of late… I think a lot of my problems tend to revolve around the fact that I love certain qualities about many, many...many, people.”

“Mmm, while I don’ disagree, it’s a question better suited fer the Diplomat I think. I’m in love with m’job, if that counts.”

“Makes two of us, put that down as my relationship.”

► Do you believe in love at first sight? ➔ “No. It’s absurd. Something that is frequently told to children in order to promote procreation.”

“Only in nobility… Lust at first sight is quite real, any tavern in Stormwind will prove that.”

► Who ended your last relationship? ➔ “Do they really, truly, ever end?”

“Mmm, do they? Considerin’ m’last two haven’ actually ended per se, I’d say the last actual end wus caused by death.”

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart? ➔ “Most likely, though no one has been upset enough to say anything personal about it.”

“Lost track on that one. No’ my fault they don’ take the hint.”

► Are you afraid of commitments? ➔ “Mmmm…. Afraid? No. Hesitant to fully commit? Maybe. There is something to be said about remaining in perfect lingo. No one can actually hurt you that way.”

“I agree with her, to a point. Love no one, and no one can hurt ya’. Made that mistake once before.”

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Kat and I hug all the time. Cannot separate us, truly.”

“Oh, are we spillin’ the secrets now? Alright, luv’, game on.”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer? ➔ “There’s nothing secret about those who admire. Even if one is shy with their affections, they typically come around.”

“She ain’t wrong. They niver stay secret fer long, always have to make it known, unfortunately. It’s worse when they want to try and ‘fix ya’. Like we’re broken or sumthin’...”

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “No. I do not set myself up for failure in trusting in others to meet my exceedingly high expectations. If given the opportunity, they will disappoint.”

“No. Why set m’self up in such a predicamen’? I skipped a chance to adopt a puppy, that hurt, but I wouldn’ say I wus heartbroken.”

SEVEN TRAITS: “Describe each other.”

disorganized / organized / in between. “Kat is organized, though I cannot say that I have spent a lot of time in her office. The short time I did spend there, we were in a bit of a tiff. Closest to rage that Kat has ever seen me act, I believe.”

“Alexa is one of the most organized people I’ve met, aside from her love life.”

“It’s organized enough, just not in a way that anyone would expect…”

patient / impatient / in between. “The Director is a delightful mix of both patience and impatience. Idiocy is not tolerated, in any shape or form, but recent events have proven Kat’s behavior beyond the threshold of the patient.”

“Mmm… Patience comes with the job both her and I have, though I’ve witness her in a few impatient scenarios, felt it too…” She clears her throat. “A nice mix of in between. Fer the record, recent events are puttin’ us both past the threshold.”

outspoken / reserved / in between. “Reserved. Kat doesn’t really go out of her way to interact with strangers, unless she wants something. This typically includes information, and namely only that.”

“See. Like I said, she knows me more than she should. I would say Alexa is a bit outspoken. I’ve watched her move through a tavern enough times, work a person or two.”

empathetic / unempathetic / in between. “I would say that we both are not highly empathetic people. Kat is more emotional than I, though it is not by much.”

“I will agree with that. No’ a lot of room fer bullshit in our profession. No’ goin’ to comment on the emotional part though.”

optimistic / pessimistic / in between. “Bit of a glass is half empty type of person, you are. “

“Glass of whiskey?”

“Glass is fully empty in that case.”

“See, she knows me! But, I’d say yer a bit more of an optimist than I, narrow margin though. Pessimist is just wot an optimist calls a realist.”

hard-working / lazy / in between. “I do not think there is even a question to Kat’s work ethic. We are both far too devoted to our jobs, to a degree that most would consider unhealthy. I find it wise to remind them that we are what protects them from the mongrels of the Horde.”

“What even is a day off fer us?”

loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between. “Loyal both in a professional sense and relational. The fact that Kat is even sitting here, after our falling out, is proof enough of how Kat values our relationship. If you need an example of loyalty to the Alliance, I would remind you of my previous statement. She does not falter nor rest when it comes to protecting our people.”

“Thank ya’, luv’. Now, without gettin’ any further into the relationship line… I don’ believe Alexa houses a single disloyal bone in her body. As she said, I am here, but so is she, take that as ya’ will. I remember early on after we met, she always carried her papers. Her authority on land wus  marginal yes, but that didn’t stop her from actin’ on behalf of the Alliance. Professional and relational fer her as well.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Lust. Love tends to attach too many strings, emotional bonds, problems. It is simply easier without the complications that people bring to the table when romance is brought into the equation.”

“She says that, but yet…” She turns her hands over in her lap with a shrug. “Still, she ain’t wrong. It’s worse when people get more invested than ya’ are, messy too. M’friends think it’s no’ healthy but, woteva, they’re married anyways.”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Dogs.”

“Dogs.”

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “What type of question is that? Rum. It’s either water, or rum.”

“Can I spike the tea with whiskey? Does that still count?”

“No.”

“Well fuck ya’ then, who made ya’ the beverage police?”

“It’s in my contract, didn’ you know?”

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “A few best friends. It’s easier to keep an eye on them that way.”

“I prefer more of a...web. Everyone has their place and purpose, sum more than others.”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “I’m never involved with anything that can be described as...wild.”

“Yes? She’s also lyin’.”

“Name one time.”

“The one ni- How about we just keep it family friendly on the readin’...”

► Day or night ➔ “Night.”

“Agreed. I work better in the dark.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out? ➔ “No. I do not sneak, therefore I do not get caught.”

“Yer so full of shit. But, I wus caught a few times.”

“I walk right out the front door.”

“Noticed- movin’ on.”

► Fallen down/up the stairs? ➔ “Certainly. Get too much drink in me and I will do both at the same time.”

“I’ll say the same. No further commen’.”

► Stolen something? ➔ “That is absurd.”

“Way too much to count.”

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “More than it is healthy, I am sure. Both in frequency and volume. The next promotion, to not be like my father in my habits, the Diplomat to choose. Yet here we are, I’m still holding my breath on all of the unlikely scenarios. Maybe if all three happen at once…”

Kat just blinks at Alexa. “Right… I went over a month with no alcohol, no human contact, no real food, no alcohol, and no proper lodgin’. There’s yer answer.”

“Right, we get it, you could not have a drink. Light above be blessed that you were sober for a month.”

“Bite me.”

“Bend over.”

“Temptin’. Ahem. Movin’ on…”

► Wanted to disappear? ➔ “No. Not literally. Though since my evenings spent with Terra I do frequently wonder what I would be like in another profession. Maybe a baker of some sorts.”

“Have a few times in the past. Still can if I want to. Did ya’ say a baker? Yeah, okay…”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes? ➔ “Smile. You can usually tell if people ae lyin’ by how they pose their words. If they falter, or trip, their embarrassment is commonly displayed.”

“Eyes don’ lie as much as lips do. Became quite familiar with that over the year…”

► Shorter or Taller? ➔ “Shorter. Much easier to pin.”

“No real preference, though in the Admiral’s case, taller. She made a fair point. No further comment on that.”

► Intelligence or Attraction? ➔ “Intelligence leads directly to any type of attraction. Unless you mean beauty, hm? A pretty face will certainly get you far in life.”

“She’s no’ wrong… Ya’ sure ya’ didn’t mean to ask intelligence or beauty?”

► Hook-up or Relationship? ➔ “As of recent it has been relationships, everyone is rather obsessed with finding a way to make me stick around. Even if it is beating around the bush, in a manner of words. Prior to this last year? Hook-ups. Much easier, less strings attached, and it let me avoid most of the drama I am now right in the middle of.”

“Except she’s the one that wanted to stick around.”

THREE ABOUT FRIENDS

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends? ➔ “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

“Absolutely no’.”

► Who is your best friend? ➔ “My brother, Viktor. He is one of the few that I could trust with any type of fuckery.”

“Rinnessa, she’s been like a little sister to me since childhood. Jess and Xylia I met in the city.”

► Have you ever lost a good friend? ➔ “I am in the process of losing one as we speak.”

“That statemen’ likely applies to both of us.”

TWO FOR FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along? ➔ “All of us besides V. The youngest is bar far the most difficult. Tends to love crime, sticky fingers… reminds me a bit of Kat, to be honest.”

“I don’ much care fer corpses, so- Well that’s just rude. Perhaps I need to meet this sister if we have so much in common.”

► Do you see your family often? ➔ “At least once every other week, since I have returned from the mainland.”

“Again.... All dead.”

ONE WHO KNOWS ALL

► Who knows everything about you? ➔ “My mother, though you would not expect it. We are not close, in any meaning of the word, but she seems to understand what I am going through without myself ever speaking a word.”

“Nobody. That’s the point. Everyone has a piece of the puzzle though, sum more than others. Alexa certainly learned more than she should have in our time together, to be honest.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I trust ya’. Take the compliment.”

ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD

► Would you say you have a messed up life? ➔ “No. My life is a reflection of my choices, my relationships, and my consequences. The Light guides my path, yet I am an entity who decides what direction I will take. All that has been done, and all that will come of it is my accomplishment.”

Kat rolls her eyes at the mention of the Light guiding one's path. “Complicated, sure. Messed up? No. I made my choices, lived with them, worked through the consequences of misplaced gambles and relationships. Everything I do is by design, good or bad. There is always a larger image.”

Written with @preyontheweak.

Tagged by: @roses-and-arrows, @xyveth-heartbane. Since the previous answers to this prompt were still valid from the last time, we did this one together to mix it up and have some fun.

[Mentions: @shewolf-jacqueline, @tinybewitchedgilnean, @jesdena, @library-of-the-forgotten @oathandsword  @titanicmight ]

[autumnpawtribe]

Just a moment in time - Vol'raka, Tiny, and Xiao Chun

Tiny had finally started to sleep long enough for her Papa and Ba to spend some more intimate time together.  It was a time to relax, and love, come together as a couple after so long apart.  Xiao laid against Vol, nuzzling into his neck in return to the trolls affections. "I love you so much, Vol... more than I ever thought I could." He whispered breathlessly still before giving a tiny chuckle. "I... did not hurt you, did I?" He finally asked, turning his head to kiss Vol's cheek and then gently press a kiss to his lips as he nuzzled their foreheads together. "No mah love."  He looked a bit sad that he hadn't been hurt, but kissed his mate on the top of the head softly.  "Ah be fine."  A soft chuckle accompanied the troll picking his mate up and tossing him over his shoulder.  "Ja gonna be crunchy furred.  Showah fer Xiao..." Xiao smiled and nodded. "I was worried, I think you are uh... bleeding in a few places." He said with a blush as he glanced down to Vol's thoroughly scratched up thighs as well as the few marks on his back. Before he could speak again, he squeaked in surprise as he was scooped up, clinging to his mate now as he was hoisted over his shoulder. "I miss being crunchy if it is from you..." He said with a little giggle as he hugged Vol's shoulder as he was carted off. "Nothin' wrong wit pain, lovah.  Ah crave et.  Ah'd say we fall asleep like dat, but Ah know dat any minute dat lil time bomb we got gonna wake up.  Ja take longah den me."  He swatted the pandaren on the ass just as he put him down.  "Get clean, ah gonna find pants.  Ah need a showah, get da tangles out mah hair an at least two houahs sleep." Xiao blushed a bit more, nodding. "I... almost forgot about your penchant for pain. I guess some part of me remembered otherwise I wouldn't have scratched you up like that." He said with a smile before squeaking in surprise as his ass was smacked. He turned around to lean up and give Vol a long, loving kiss before he could leave. "I... have never been happier than I am when I am with you. Never forget that. I promise, I will be here this time."  He said against Vol's lips, hugging him hard before sighing contently and pulling away to head off and do his oh so secret cleaning routine to keep his fur as wonderfully soft and plush as his mate had always known it to be. "Ja can scratch me up all ja evah want."  He'd never really let Xiao know how deep his want of pain went, one day maybe.  "Bettah be.  Scoot."  He busied himself with changing  and reswaddling their daughter and sitting next to her hammock to watch her sleep, singing another lullaby.  "Gotta sound proof ja room before we know et, hmm?" Xiao wandered off as his mate told him, the water running in the me functional but far less fancy shower since this wasn't the main home. Maybe an hour or so later, Xiao came back out, fur dry and wonderfully fluffy, grinning like a fool as he entered their daughter's room to find his mate. "Hey..." He nearly purred, love glowing in his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe. "Ja finally done...  longah den usual."  He sat in a chair, smiling as she ate and smirking.  "Second bottle en an houah.  Should warn ja.  Troll babies eat like big orc mons.   Bottomless pits mah ma'da once call em.  Get used ta dis, hmm?" Xiao chuckled a little. "There was more to clean up than normal. I also let my fur grow out a little more than normal so it takes longer to dry over the vent." He moved to sit across from Vol on the bed. "Do we have enough milk for her? You said it is goat milk, right?" "Ja.  Goats be outside at dis house, da Vale and Hillsbrad.  Da Admiral say he can get a Tauren fer helpin' out.  She get fed, Get ever'ting ah can be gettin' er. "  He said a few words in Zandali, trying to teach her even at that age.  "Yuutee Saakes, Zutopong.  Skam m italaf deh'yo ackee..." "Good, the last thing we would want is our little girl to go hungry, though I know you would never let that happen." He smiled, patting the bed. "Here, you two should come over here. Let her Ba feed her?" He asked with a hopeful smile. "What was that you said in Zandali just now, anyway? I still know... well, next to none of it, unfortunately." "Shadowhuntah, Daughtah.  Just a Hungry lil ting."   He stood and let Xiao hold the girl who was none too pleased about moving, and not eating right then and there.  "Ja get ta watch 'er a bit.  Showah."  Booping her daughter softly on the nose and doing the same to Xiao, he went to get himself clean, Xiao getting to deal with a whiny, amber eyed girl.  If Xiao looked, he'd see Vol's features, no doubt who sired her.  Amber eyes, the same green and gold hair, with the barest bright highlights of blue, and the same strong nose.  She looked up toward him, too young to focus on anything or properly see him. Xiao happily took the little bundle, cradling her against his bare chest, having only put on some loose linen pants after his shower. "Do not worry, I have her." He said with a smile as Vol headed off to take his now. He stared down at her now, having some true quality time with his daughter. Seeing his mate in her eyes, her hair, so much of him in every part of her. It actually made a tear come to his eye. He whispered to her in Pandaren now, letting the girl hear him speak in something other than his stilted and heavily accented Orcish. "My dearest daughter.. I will give you anything and everything I can... your papa and I, we will give you the world. You are the gift we never saw coming, the missing piece we never knew we were missing. Some day, you will have a brother or a sister. Your life will be filled with happiness, adoration, praise... and above all, love. This I promise you." He kissed her forehead gently, a single tear dripping down onto her cheek and causing him to chuckle as he leaned up and noticed it. "A little salty rain never hurt, hm?" He continued to murmur, wiping off the tear with the fur of his thumb. "You have not seen it yet, but your home... our home, the place we will eventually be a family, forever... your room will be everything you have ever dreamed of. Everything for our baby girl." It was then he gasped. "Vol!" He called out in Orcish now. "I have an idea, we need to talk when you are done showering!" He sounded excited, but his smile faded as he cringed, the loud noise making the poor girl fuss and cry. "Sorry, my lovely." He cooed in Pandaren again. "Ba is sorry, little one, shhh, it is alright. Here." He shook her bottle a bit, jostling the milk and getting her attention with the warm sustenance, quickly quieting her as she went back to drinking happily. "Talk bout what, hmm?"  He came out, clothed in a towel around his waist and one going at his hair.  "Et wait until ah able ta find pants.  Ever' tin' be down at da Vale or Hillsbrad."  Green locks were flopped over on one side and he had freshly shaved the sides of his head down to the skin.  "Gonna need ta clean tings up en 'ere."  He looked around, the room his daughter was sleeping in for the time the same she was born in.  "Ja gonna teach 'er Pandaren, ah gonna teach 'er Zandali.  Gonna get REshka ta teach her Thalassian..  an ALL of us be teachin' orcish." Xiao practically wiggled in his spot on the bed. "Maybe I do not want you to find pants." He said with a little grin. "Remember that... illusion on the top of the canopy in our bed in the Vale? I was thinking for her room, I could have Kyl do the entire room as an illusion. Instead of just normal wallpaper, we could have... an entire scene. Maybe a waterfall, a beautiful view, stars on the ceiling. I am not sure exactly. Ooh, maybe we could do a view from stranglethorn! Something to remind her of where she came from? I wanted to ask because, well, you said you had investments. I was hoping you might have some excess laying around. It would not cost nearly as much as the house upgrades did, the illusions were fairly cheap, actually. The thing that did the most damage, gold wise, was the engineered magically contraptions like the shower, the self-cleaning bed, and all of the, well, everything in the stables. I just thought, you know, it would be calming and beautiful?" "No.". He dragged the towel over his head and looked to Xiao intently.  "Not paying Kyl Dem prices.   He gonna learn ta haggle like a troll.   His price took ja  away.   Not happening again.   Stranglethorn be where she concieved.  Ja really tink ah wanna be reminded of dat?".  He wasn't made just matter of fact.  "We look into et, aftah ah surah day dat fuckin snakr not gonna slitha enta ouaj bed an kill me.  She not gonna appreciate et fer a long while.  Patience, lil love.  When ettime, we talk more on et." Xiao blinked. "No?" Then he heard the rest and nodded. "Kyl may haggle, honestly I do not know. I... did not think to try." He blushed a bit, never having been one to haggle. Then he frowned a bit sadly at the mentions of Stranglethorn. "Sorry, I thought Stranglethorn might be good, I didn't know that was where it happened." He shook his head. "I just did not think it through I guess." He said as he peered down at Tiny now, biting his lower lip and feeling a bit silly for his idea now. "We gonna figuah out sumpin, lil love.  Fer now, she not gonna care ef da walls be all white or just stone.  She gonna be en ouah room till we can get sometin so we can hear when she need us.". With a small kiss on his love's nose and a smile, he whispered softly.  "Ah not mean ta sound harsh.  Ja not know where dis all happen.  We both do thinking on et.  Sides, where she come from be Pandaria.  Dis da land of er birth, ja?"

[buckymcbuttfacebarnes]

Some Other Night

Pairing: biker!bucky x reader

Word Count: about 3.2k (yall i got carried away)

Warnings: lotta fluff tad bit of angst yall know the drill

a/n: long italicized portions are memories! let me know what yall think!!! if yall have any suggestions or requests just message me!!!

my other fics

The bar wasn’t far from home, and because it was summertime the sun still shone with its bright golden glow even though it was nearly seven o’clock, so Y/N decided to walk to the bar and catch a ride back home with Bucky.

The aroma of fried food, alcohol, and cigarette smoke enveloped her senses the moment she entered. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit interior for him—he wasn’t hard to miss. He stood with his back to her, his loose bun and familiar broad shoulders distinguishing him from the rest of his group of biker buddies, a fairly large group of men and like, two women. This was their hangout spot on Saturday nights, which she knew, having been with Bucky and the group for about two and a half years now. Y/N herself wasn’t a biker, she had actually met Bucky at the auto-repair shop he worked in. She went in with the intention of getting an oil change for car and ended up being sweet talked into going on a date with him. One date turned into two, two to three, and so on...until before she knew it they were a legitimate item. This prompted her, of course, to get to know his friends. He had told her that they were his family, the most family he’d ever had anyway.

Sam was the first to spot Y/N upon her entry. He flashed her a wide grin before shouting, “Wifey’s here!”

Bucky turned, beer in hand, a doting look on his face. “Hey, baby doll,” he greeted warmly, opening his arms to welcome her forthcoming embrace.

As her arms wound around his neck a mocking snort of disgust was heard, probably from Nat. “Buck, you big softy,” Steve tsked, earning a giggle from Y/N. It was still amazing to her how different Bucky could be towards his friends and towards her. There were two very different sides to him, an unbeknownst fact to outsiders looking in. He could be so warm and playful, other times so stoic and vulgar. At times like these she got to see both sides at the same time.

“I’ll still kick your ass, Rogers,” he quipped gruffly, pressing a kiss to the side of Y/N’s head. His free hand rested on the small of her back. “I thought you had to work late tonight, doll. What ya doin’ here?”

“What, am I intruding?” she replied in an amused tone, parting from their warm embrace to give the group a look that seemed to say ‘Get a load of this guy.’

“No, doll, it’s-” he began to sputter apologetically, earning teasing laughs from the group.

“Cool it, Romeo, I’m kidding,” Y/N grinned taking his beer from his hand and taking a swig.

“You have got this man whipped,” Sam sang teasingly.

“How many times are you going to say that, Wilson? No, really? How many more do you have left in you? Can we get an estimate?” Tony sarcastically asked.

“Yeah, Wilson,” Bucky chimed with a satisfied grin.

Tony turned to him and tutted, “I’m not defending you. You’re whipped. I’m just tired of hearing Wilson chirping it all the damn time like a fucking parrot.”

Sam’s brows raised before a coy look befell upon his features. “So it’s not the fact that I’m saying it, it’s the tune? Well why you ain’t say that, man? I can fix that right now, hold on, look.” He cleared his throat in preparation.

“Alright, alright,” Y/N cut in with a loud laugh, “We don’t need none of that, Sam...Anyways, what’s goin’ on gang? How’s everybody been?”

It was a simple inquiry, but it was a question that had kicked off the entire night, as it often did. They spent time dishing on their love lives, family lives, personal lives. They had been a close-knit group before Y/N came into the picture—very close...and they hadn’t collectively accepted her with open arms at first. They weren’t unpleasant, but she could tell they were guarded. Wanda was welcoming, by far the sweetest out of the bunch. She assured her that the group would warm up to her...it would just take some time.

“Look, Bucky, I don’t know about this.”

“C’mon, what’s the big deal, doll face. We both know they’re all gonna love ya! Plus, you’ll be hangin’ with me, so you know you’ll have a good time,” the blue eyed devil winked playfully.

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

“Too soon?” he scoffed, brows furrowing. “Never too soon to meet the gang! These are the people I spend the most time with—they’re like family!”

“Family? Buck…” She stood between  his legs. He was seated on the edge of his bed, her hands resting gently on his shoulders.

“Not my real family, but you know. Friend family.” The cool metal fingertips of his left hand gently ghosted across the bare skin of the back of her thigh.

“Still family. What if they don’t like me?”

“Then they’re bigger dumbasses than I thought.”

“I don’t think I’m hardcore enough for these people. They all have Harley’s and cool jackets,” she pointed out factually, lips pursing. “I don’t got that shit.”

“You’re hardcore enough for me,” Bucky grinned that wolfish grin of his. “You like it real hardcore, huh, doll?” he asked teasingly, bringing her down onto the bed with him in one abrupt, swift motion. He began tickling her relentlessly, “Say it, doll! Say it: ‘I’m hardcore!’” He had her in a fit of side-splitting giggles. The sound of her laugh was like a symphony in his ears. It was a beautifully contagious sound, he found himself laughing too. “I’m not gonna stop ‘til you say it!”

“I’m—” the giggles kept her from finishing the phrase.

“You’re what?” he asked mockingly. “Hurry up, dollface! My hands are gettin’ real tired.”

“I’m hardcore!” she shouted, her chest heaving as his hands left her body. Her hands flew up to wipe the tears from her eyes, her laughter slowly subsiding. “Get off of me you fucking neanderthal. I can’t breathe.”

He chuckled and climbed off of her. He pressed a sloppy, lingering kiss to her lips. “So you’ll come. They’ll love ya. You said it yourself, you’re hardcore.”

“Gang, this is Y/N,” Bucky introduced her happily. “Y/N this is...well, everybody.”

She received a collective murmur of hellos and heys as a response. She caught a pretty redhead’s eye for a moment and she smiled. The redhead scowled in response. Y/N noticed the weary look in the broad shouldered, bearded man’s eyes. What did that mean?

The group dispersed on their own after a brief, unexciting conversation amongst themselves and Y/N,  some heading to the kitchen to get drinks, others going off to mingle with other partygoers.

Buck smiled at her, “I think that went fairly well.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Y/N shrugged before she herself left to grab a drink.

At the party that evening, Y/N felt completely out of place. Bucky, being the gentleman he was, was hesitant to leave her side when she told him to go mingle with his friends. It took a little convincing, but she finally got him to leave her alone—she couldn’t look like some wimp that wasn’t capable of making her own friends. While she knew she had to go out on a limb here and approach them herself, she wasn’t striving to please anyone. She wanted them to like her, but she wasn’t willing to go out of her way to make herself especially likable tonight.

“Y/N,” someone called out to her above the thrum of the music. She turned to see one of Buck’s friends approaching her. A girl with long brown hair, a very pretty smile on her face. “Hey, you’re one of Bucky��s friends. I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.”

“I’m Wanda,” she introduced herself, a toothy grin on her face.

“Wanda,” Y/N repeated. “Buck talks about you a lot.”

“All good things I hope.”

Y/N smiled, “Oh, always. He speaks very highly of you,”

“He speaks highly of you too, y’know? You’re all we hear about. It’s always Y/N this, Y/N that...That man...he’s gone. You’ve got him.”

A betraying heat rushed to her cheeks as she tried to hide her sheepish little grin. Bucky talked about her to his friends? That was a normal thing to do...why did it make her so tingly and warm inside?

“Oh, I hope I’m not freaking you out...he just...he really likes you, that’s all. Bucky doesn’t tend to like women enough to want to keep them around for too long, you know?”

“I didn’t, but now I do I guess,” she laughed.

“Yeah, uh, don’t tell him I told you that...it’s just the few times he has invested in a girl...girls are mean,” she concluded. It was enough for Y/N to understand what she meant. They were weary of him getting hurt again, which made sense. No one ever wants to see their friends get hurt, especially at the hands of another. “Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy he has you...and...don’t mind everyone else, okay? Mostly Steve, he’s protective over him. Nat too.” Wanda shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and offered another one of those warm smiles. “They’ll warm up to you, just give it some time. They’re real nice people.”

“No, no, no,” Nat objected quickly, waving her hands dismissively. “How many times do I have to tell you this? You guys don’t get to talk about sex. You’re fucking each other,” she exclaimed.

It was nearing eleven o’clock now. The gang had been there for hours, talking about absolutely everything and nothing all at the same time. The found themselves squished in the same booth, those who couldn’t fit pulled up chairs near the booth. Y/N was wedged between Bucky, who had his arm wrapped around her protectively, and Steve.

“What does that have to do with anything? I’ve heard eighty million of your guys’ sex stories,” Y/N responded.

“But, we know both of y’all. Not just one,” Sam explained factually as if it were a science. “It’s just different.”

“She likes it rough,” Bucky stated, wiggling his eyebrows as he looked amongst his group of friends.

“Yes, we’ve heard,” Sam sneered, his nose wrinkling in disgust. A similar look graced Steve’s face, who, despite his facial hair and longer locks, had a very boyish manner about him. Y/N sunk in her seat, her face flushing with an embarrassed glow. “Oh, no—don’t act all shy now. You wasn’t shy when you was doin’ all that yellin’ and moanin’ at Tony’s New Year’s party.”

Thor laughed, his broad shoulders shaking with every eb of laughter. “Oh, Bucky—Oh my God, Buck—ow!” His eyes averted to Bucky, who had kicked him beneath the table. “Not necessary.”

“So, since you two are so open to airing out your dirty laundry, let me ask you this,” began Tony, “when are you two gonna tie the knot?”

“Tie what knot?” Y/N glanced up at Bucky with a playful glint in her eye before she took a few fries from the plate in the middle of the table. They were eating in attempt to sober up enough to make their short rides home.

“The marriage knot.”

“We don’t call her wifey for nothin’,” Sam chirped. There was a pause. Y/N had an inexplicably coy little smile on her lips. She and Buck had only barely discussed the prospect of marriage, though she was very enamored with the idea of being his wife. She stuffed a couple more fries into her mouth, as her friends looked at her expectantly. She turned her gaze to Bucky, she mirrored their expectant gazes.

“Yeah, Buck. When you plan on tying me down for good, huh?”

“Who’s to say I didn’t plan on doing it tonight, hm?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he peered down at her.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Shut up, James.”

“If I asked you to marry me right now, what would you say?”

“I’d say...no, probably,” she teased.

Bucky nodded slowly, began digging in the pocket of his jeans. “In that case,” he began, a cheeky grin coming to his lips as the entire table was silenced. “Y/N Y/L/N,” he was still digging in his pocket. “Will you do me the honor of putting my phone in your purse?” From his pocket he pulled his cellphone and placed it on the table in front of them. There was a mischievous grin on his face. “Please?”

“You damn bastard.”

He got a lot of shit for that one. Steve was convinced he was going to see a proposal and was extremely let down. Tony was just pissed. Sam thought it truly was a “dick move”. Wanda and Nat both said they would kill him, if Y/N desired. Thor thought it was funny.

The conversation changed topic shortly afterwards, returning to raunchy stories of the sexual escapades of the group. And though Y/N loved nothing more than laughing it up at the expense of her friends past sexual ventures, the idea of marrying Bucky was awfully prominent in her mind. She knew it wouldn’t change anything for them. They already lived together, they shared everything. She adored him, she loved him. He loved her too. She didn’t need a ring to prove that love to herself or to him or to anyone else...but still...it was such a magical idea. Was it cliche to think that?

“I think I’ll marry you someday,” Bucky slurred as he walked clumsily into the house, using Y/N as support.

“You’re super drunk, Buck.”

“I mean it. No really, I do,” he insisted with a crooked smile. His eyes were barely open. She led him into the kitchen and handed him a cup of water.

“Drink that.”

“Y/N, doll face, I’m serious.”

She leaned her back against the sink, arms crossed over her chest while she watched the drunken man take tentative sips of his water, his tall figure swaying just slightly. It had been about six months since the couple had began dating. Never in her life had she seen him drunk like this. He was a man who could hold his liquor, she supposed he must’ve gotten carried away—or most likely, Thor had brought that good shit. Within the few months of their relationship it had been difficult getting him to open up, she learned that his feelings, specifically his feelings for her, poured out of him when he was drunk. She wondered if that would ever change.

“Are you listening?” he placed the glass on the counter and stumbled across the kitchen over to her, his hands resting on the edges of the counter on either side of her. He was closing her in, leaving her no room for escape.

“Mhm, I’m listening, James.”

“I love it when you call me that...when you call me by my name. It’s different when you say it.”

Y/N could not hide her grin, her hands reaching up to cup either side of his face. He leaned his head lovingly into her touch, a sigh leaving his lips, his breath tart with the heavy smell of the alcohol.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

“Only...only if you’ll say you’ll marry me.”

“Not tonight I won’t.”

“Some other night then, huh doll?” he asked, his innocent tone almost making her wish that she had said yes the first time.

“Yeah, baby, some other night.”

Bucky gently squeezed Y/N’s shoulder, he brought his lips closer to her ear. It was nearing twelve thirty now. “You wanna get out of here?” She nodded in reply, her head tilting back slightly to rest against his chest.

“Alright guys, we’re gonna head out,” he announced. They slid out of the booth together, one after the other.

“I’ll see y’all later, alright?” Y/N smiled at those who remained in the booth and gave a little wave. Despite her attempts to say goodbye were missed though, the group before her shared a collective gasp, their eyes focused on something behind her. She turned to find that Bucky was no longer standing, but was down on one knee.

Her breath hitched audibly in her throat. What the hell? Her hands flew up to her mouth as she looked down at him. There was an earnest smile on his lips and his eyes shone like the most beautiful blue jewels she’d ever seen. There was a stillness in the air that made her heart race. This couldn’t be real.

Bucky reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, that earnest expression shifting into one of pure confusion as he pulled out a pack of gum. He looked to the group and then back to his girl. “What? I bent down to tie up my shoe, then I found some bubblegum in my pocket.”

From behind her, Y/N could hear Steve muttering, “You fucking punk.” Steve was not one to swear.

She dropped her hands from her mouth, they were now balled up into fists at her sides. If she was a little crazier she might have punched the shit out of him. When he stood he towered over her. Perhaps that would have been intimidating if she wasn’t so pissed. “You’ve gotta be really evil to do some shit like this, you got me excited for nothing!” she accused angrily, though there was a hint of a grin threatening to curl at her lips.

“You want a piece?” he offered, holding out the pack to her.

She did not hesitate to hit it out of his hand, “No I don’t want none of your bullshit gum! What the fuck?”

“What? You said no earlier, now I know you’d say yes,” he teased. He knew she would have said yes tonight or any other night that he might have chosen to ask her. He just enjoyed being an asshole sometimes.

“Whoop his ass, Y/N!” Sam exclaimed from behind her. His statement was met with a clamor of vocalized agreement from the others.

“I love you, baby doll,” he cooed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head as he began to lead her towards the door.

“I should punch you in your face right now,” she shook her head in incredulous disbelief. She and the entire group, had fallen for the same trick twice in the same night. “So you plan on actually proposing sometime or what? I promise you will die if you do this again.”

“Is that a threat?”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“Alright, fine. Soon, I think.”

“You think?”

“Actually, I know.”

“Alright then when?” 

“Dollface, you’ll never see it comin’. It’ll be when you least expect it.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll let you do that when we get home,” he winked.

[rezares]

Inni Mnih / War & Peace

In which Rory accidentally falls asleep and wakes up to a new achievement; alternatively: Rory’s Now A Level Six Friend And Unlocks The Tragic Backstory

@roryybriar

Title

Word Count: 4443

tw: blood, violence, oppression

REZA

 Reza was getting used to this whole ‘running for public office’ thing. He wasn’t needing to cut a valium in half and take it when thinking about it too hard anymore, so that was a start. Aurora still had the fire lit under her feet more than he did, but you know, he was invested.

 Even if he hadn’t lived in town long, it was important to him that this be a safe place for his family. For at least the next two years, until Lamia’s finished her undergrad at least, he’d be here, helping support her education. If she chose to go to medical school at Pride U as well, then Reza would probably stay here. Moving was a hassle. Why leave somewhere you’re comfortable? If Lamia chose to go elsewhere, Reza and Fadela probably wouldn’t tag along next time. If he did move, he’d probably just go back to Tunisia- dangerous and unfavorable for sorcerers, but home - or Austria, since his mother was there. Maybe New Zealand would be a good place to settle; magick-friendly, lots of fluffy sheep. Not a bad place.

 Then again, maybe Swynlake, England, will grow on him more than it already has. Maybe he already has settled.

 He turned his head to Aurora, his apprentice and campaign manager, and tried to peek at the writing in her notebook.

 AURORA

 Aurora was loving being a campaign manager. Really, she was having the time of her life! What she wasn’t loving was how it was fucking with her sleep schedule.

 Her naps were all over the place, she was taking more potions to stay awake through events; not to mention the fucking cursed cymbal monkey was causing her to lose sleep, too. Overall, Aurora was Tired All The Time.

 Take, for example, right now. She knew she and Reza were supposed to be going over practice questions for the debates and finalizing some of the details for their first fundraiser, but she was falling asleep on the job. The curse pulled at her body, exhaustion washing over her as gravity seemed to press her down into Reza’s couch, and her head lolled and nodded as she struggled to stay awake. She barely noticed Reza trying to peek at her notebook, and halfheartedly nudged him away with her bare foot against his leg. She tried to think of something witty to say about keeping his eyes on his own paper, but only managed a small mumble of gibberish and a large yawn.

 REZA

 “Aurora,” Reza began quietly. “I can drive you home if you’re too tired for this today, we can work on this later. You’ve been drilling questions into my head so much that I have answers and counterpoints memorized verbatim.”

 And that wasn’t a joke. At all. Something true about Aurora was that whenever she lacked experience, she made up for it in droves with her determination.

 Whether on the campaign trail, or in his workshop, Reza didn’t doubt her ability to do well - even if, with the latter, it took a lot of trial and error. (For now. See, now that he knew about her curse, it was a challenge for him, a code he had to crack, and it was going to drive him mad if he didn’t stop thinking about it.)

 AURORA

 Aurora knew the moment Reza asked that she was not going to make it home. She could barely keep her eyes open now, she’d be out like a light before they even got to the car. So instead, she just shook her head, sliding down further into the couch and bringing her knees closer to her chest.

 “Won’-” she yawned “- make it. I’ll be fine. Jus’ sleepy.”

 Her head dipped towards her chest, and within moments, the curse had pulled her back under and Aurora was deep asleep; curled around her notebook like a stuffed toy.

 REZA

 Reza shook his head at her as she fell asleep. Annoyed? No. Disappointed that she bothered coming today when she was feeling so tired? A little. He never wanted her to put her own health on the backburner to run his campaign, or to come over and study.

 As he watched her curl around the notebook like it was her teddy, Reza clicked his tongue at her and just kind of...paused there a moment. Let her sleep, he knew that much from her naps during lessons. Except those naps were in his workshop when Fadela and Lamia wouldn’t be around to disturb her.

 The living room of their house was not so sacred. Any minute now, they’d be home from their trip to NTO and Reza was not going to have a tired, angry Aurora in campaign manager mode versus student mode on his hands.

  He simply refused.

 “My knee is going to hate me in an hour,” he muttered, his decision made. Gently, Reza, gently. He slid his arms under her sleeping figure and scooped her up with mild hesitation - being deadweight and all -  making sure her head didn’t flop about.

 The walk to his bedroom was just up the stairs - the guest bedroom downstairs was full of boxes from the move, still two years later, and Lamia used the spare upstairs as a study room, and he wasn’t about to walk into the disaster zones that were his sisters’ bedrooms. For two people who like their work spaces just so, their living spaces told another story.

 Reza placed Rory on top of his made up bed and scanned the room for a blanket.

 Should he cover her? Of course he should. Did she sleep with a ceiling fan on? Better to wake up a little chilly than drenched in sweat, probably.

 He carefully laid a blanket over her, left the fan on, and kept the door cracked so he might hear her wake up. Other than keeping an ear out, she was at the back of his mind as he started dinner. Sundays were one of Reza’s nights to cook.

 AURORA

 It was nearly two hours before Aurora began to stir in Reza’s bed. She shifted closer to the pillows, legs thrown haphazardly across the bed as she breathed in deep. It wasn’t the somewhat-familiar smell of Reza’s house that greeted her, though; instead the smell of laundry soap and the faint smell of man sweat. The oddness of the fact began to pull Aurora closer to wakefulness, and she rolled onto her back as she stretched and arched.

 Yeah, this was way more space than she should have on the couch. Where was she?

 Aurora propped herself up on her elbows as she looked around sleepily, blinking the magic and exhaustion from her eyes. She was in… a room? A man’s room, by the look of it. But why would she be in a-

 Oh. Right. Reza.

 Had she been more awake, the revelation might have sent her scrambling out of bed, embarrassed and red from head to toe. Insted, she just groaned and flopped back onto the bed, one arm over her eyes. Great, she had passed out and then put to bed like a child. Always fun.

 (Wait, did that mean that Reza had carried her to bed, and she had missed it? She loved being carried; one of the perks of being Objectively Tiny.)

 Grumbling lowly, Aurora rolled onto her side as she slowly worked her way to being fully awake. She found herself looking at Reza’s bedside table, and a young, grinning face greeted her from inside a dark frame. Aurora propped her head up a little higher on her arm, reaching out to the picture to try and get a closer look, but her fingers only landing on the edge of the side table instead.

 Who was she?

 REZA

 She’s been out for a while, Fadela had said, helping herself to the dinner he was still cooking. Reza’s swatted her hand away and explained that that’s narcolepsy, and it wasn’t the first time. He didn’t mention that he suspected Rory’d been losing sleep over the cursed cymbals monkey thing, because Fadela would have only made fun of her.

 We get it, Fadela, you’re a stone cold bitch.

 Though.

 Fadela was right. It had been two hours, so maybe it was worth checking on her to see if she was alive. He was not in the mood to hide a body today, thank you.

 When he got to the top of the stairs, he didn’t hear her rustling around, as she’d stopped by then, so he turned on his heel to go back downstairs until he remembered - oh, right. Checking on someone required looking at them.

 He pushed open his bedroom door just enough to peek at her, and assuming she was still asleep, grabbed the handle to pull the door closed again as he made to back away.

 AURORA

 She heard the door open a bit, and shifted her head to look at the door and away from the mysterious little girl with the pretty curls of dark hair and warm eyes.

 Or at least, attempt to look at the door through her hair. She hadn’t pulled it up before passing out, so it was A Hot Mess.

 She could barely make out a tall figure on the other side, and hummed quietly at the back of her throat in greeting. It was quiet, barely-there sound, and Aurora didn’t really expect Reza to hear her.

 REZA

 Reza was a father. And a big brother who practically raised Lamia. His ears were fine-tuned to hear soft noises coming from sleepy daughters, sisters, and friends. He pushed his door open again and walked toward his bed, stopping a respectable ten feet or so away.

 “You’re up?”

 AURORA

 Aurora watched Reza approach, shifting a little so she wasn’t twisted up all over the bed as much. “Gettin’ there,” she responded, her voice soft and husky with sleep. She smiled up at him - or at least attempted to, she was still half asleep. “Thanks fer lettin’ me sleep here,” she murmured before glancing back at the photo.

 There was a family resemblance, definitely. Seeing Reza in the room with her only made it more obvious. “This Lamia?” Aurora asked softly, reaching out and falling short of the photo once again, instead tapping the edge of the nightstand.

 REZA

 His mouth was open to say ‘it was nothing’ when his eyes followed Aurora’s hand to the nightstand, and continuing onto her hand’s intended target when it missed. He snapped his mouth shut and crossed the room to the side of his bed to snatch up the picture.

 “No.” Reza said, a bit too urgently and too harshly, as he stared at the picture of the smiling little girl in traditional dress with palpable longing.

 How could he forget it was there and not take it with him?

 Well, he knew why. Because Reza trusted Aurora, because his guard was down around her. And, he didn’t need to be afraid here, he didn’t need to hide any evidence of his child like in Tunisia. It was different for sorcerers here.

 “This is a picture of my daughter.”

 AURORA

 Whatever response she had been expecting, that wasn't it. Aurora drew her hand back as quickly as she could with her heavy limbs when Reza crossed the room, blinking up at him in innocent and somewhat startled confusion.

 His harsh 'no’ was a little like a slap to the face, waking her a little more just from the shock. What the hell had she done wrong? She wasn't snooping, the photo was literally right there.

 She watched him look at the photo for a moment, silently marveling at how soft his features had gone in an instant even as her own confusion only increased.

 “This is a picture of my daughter.”

 Aurora blinked at him, still tucked safely against his pillows and under his blanket. “Daughter?”  she asked softly.

 REZA

 “Yes,” Reza said, his gaze fixated on the picture, one hand gripping the frame tight, the other, tracing the lines of his little girl’s face. “She was four in this picture. I haven’t held her in over three years.”

 He cleared his throat, pushing down the wetness there.

 Though nothing could stop his arms from aching for his sweet little girl.

 “I miss her very much. She was the highlight of every single day; just. First thing in the morning I woke up to.”

 AURORA

 Aurora watched Reza silently; the way he carefully traced the lines of his daughter's face, the longing in his eyes. It was a side of him she had never seen before, and she couldn't help but think it was incredibly sweet.

 (Though there was a tiny voice in the back of her head that whispered “Why didn't he tell me about her before?”)

 “She's beautiful,” Aurora said softly. She wanted to ask where she was, why his daughter wasn't living with him, but she didn't want to risk upsetting him. Especially since - judging by the way he was talking about her - there was probably a 50/50 chance she had died.

 The thought made Aurora want to cry. She thought of her little girl from the Hunger Games, of her body hitting the floor with a tiny, final thud, and shoved that thought as far from her head as she could.

 “Wha's her name?” Aurora asked instead, shifting onto her back as she could look up at Reza easier. She felt like she should have more questions than that, but her brain was still waking up.

 REZA

 “Thanks, I made that.” He joked, looking up from the photograph just long enough to give Rory a playful grin.

 His little girl was his proudest accomplishment. She was sweet, funny, and clever, and he loved her so much. Their three times weekly video chats were all he lived for.

 “Sabiha Ibitsam Ghadir Basira bint Reza Kasraoui-Müller. Sabiha means bright like morning, and she always was. Is still, I’m sure.” Reza looked over at Rory with a sad smile. “I only have her through video chat right now. She’s in Tunisia.”

 AURORA

 Oh, sweet, not dead. Aurora felt much less guilty about giggling at Reza’s joke now.

 “Tha’s a lovely name,” she told him with a soft smile. “I would butcher it, but tha’s on me.”

 Stretching her arms over her head one more time - the stretch going all the way down to her toes - Aurora slowly pushed herself up, stopping midway to let the blood rush through her head as it rolled around the room before landing back on her shoulders. It took a moment, but soon she was upright, one knee hugged close to her chest as she rested her cheek against it.

 “At least yer able to chat with her,” Aurora offered softly. “Why didn’t she move here with ye?” Tunisia was a dangerous place for Magicks to be, wasn't it? She couldn't imagine Reza would leave her behind for no reason.

 REZA

 He waited for her to get situated, smiling fondly at her and then keeping the expression as he looked back down at Sabiha’s picture.

 At her question, he almost physically recoiled. There wasn’t judgement in her voice or her expression, but he harbored plenty for the both of them. He was a terrible father, leaving his half-fairy sorceress daughter in Tunisia while he was safe. Even if it wasn’t really his choice it was inexcusable.

 “You don’t have to act like you aren’t thinking it. I know even calling me a father is...generous.” He set her picture down in its place on the nightstand, his fingers lingering over her face, before he cleared his throat and moved over to his desk, leaning back against it instead of bothering to sit down.

 He cleared his throat again and avoided looking at Rory, as if the shame he felt was physically preventing him.

 “Her mother is in Tunisia still. With her. She didn’t want to leave and refused to have her daughter leave her.” Reza shrugged a shoulder and sighed. “Rafika wasn’t and never was my wife or girlfriend or anything, there was no sway I could have held over her decision to stay, really. And it wouldn’t be fair.”

 “To make her leave her Hollow.”

 Reza folded his arms across his chest and began to pace the floor, slowly, so he didn’t dizzy Rory trying to follow him with her eyes. “I didn’t have a choice about leaving my country. I’d applied for political asylum in the past. To the US, Australia, and New Zealand. Declined, of course. I’m a dual citizen of the EU and Tunisia because my mother is Austrian, but despite me not having contact with her from ages 15-18, then 19-nearly 33, my life wasn’t in ‘tangible and bona fide’ danger in both countries I was a citizen of. By the time my daughter was born, I gave up on trying to leave purposely.”

 “But then there was a wedding, and a bomb anti magick people planted there, and I shielded Sabiha in time for it to be me who took a big injury instead of her entire little body being...she wouldn’t have survived. I barely did.” Truthfully, he’d wanted to die. It was by sheer willpower that he stayed awake, and told Sabiha to keep her eyes on his face so she wouldn’t think too much about how her dress was soaked in her father’s blood, and about how when she asked ‘Baba, does it hurt?’ he’d said ‘no’ because he was losing feeling as time passed.

 He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it as he heaved a frustrated sigh. He hadn’t meant to give Rory this much tragic backstory. But to explain why he didn’t have Sabiha, he had to.

 Reza reached for the bottle of boukha on the desk and took a big gulp. If he was going to finish this, he needed a drink. Or twenty.

 “Right, so.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “My father made me go to Austria for medical care. In my...state at the time, I wasn’t really any good for defending myself. My identity as the anonymous activist writer Ares - have I told you about that?- had been exposed shortly before the wedding. I had to leave. It wasn’t a choice anymore.”

 “My sisters came with me because my father insisted they enjoy the safety of Austria. Relative safety.” Reza laughed mirthlessly and took another swig from the bottle. “I wasn’t quite 33 when I left. My daughter was...mm, she was not yet five.”

 Another swig of boukha. “With physical therapy and several surgeries, I was able to walk again and keep both legs. By the time it was time to consider going home, Lamia was ready for university and heard of Swynlake. I was left at an impasse, a Catch-22 of sorts.

 “I could go home to Tunisia to my daughter, but live completely exposed where I’d likely not be able to find employment and a home to rent, or.” Another sip, for a dramatic pause. “I could follow my sisters here and live freely and able to make money to send to my daughter and her mother. That’s all I was ever good for, for Sabiha anyway. I don’t think she had any memories of me other than through her mother’s phone screen. Even when I was in Tunisia, I wasn’t with her much.”

 See? Barely a father. He should have been by his daughter’s side way more than he was, but he wasn’t. There was no excuse.

 Even if it was to provide for her.

 “We lived mainly in the city of Hammamet, but I was a bit of a nomad. Out of necessity. I worked as a fisherman in whatever city had someone willing to pay me the most, and if that was Sousse, Djerba, Tunis, Zarsis, or Kelibia, that is where I went for a few weeks of work.” His pacing came to a stop as his bad knee began to hurt, and he came to rest atop his desk rather than the chair. “When I wasn’t on the boats, I made money as a handyman, and by designing web pages with my mainly self-taught coding skills. When I wasn’t working, I was writing essays and fliers supporting magick rights.”

 Reza capped the bottle of liquor, not about to down the entire thing in front of Aurora, and pushed it to the opposite side of the desk. “If I couldn’t find good enough word fishing, I waited table or tended bars for the European, American, and Emirati tourists in whatever city had the best wages and earning outlook. And if that took me to Sidi Bou Said, Monastir, the Kerkennah Islands, or Mahdia, then that is where I went.”

 “I wanted to be able to put my daughter through private school and math and language tutoring; my raw magic is the gift of tongues, so even without intense study, I learned - mm, it’s not important how many - languages perfectly fine. We don’t know what hers is yet; I want her to learn English and German, because those will take her far in this globalized world. But that takes money in my country.” He tapped his fingers against the table and swallowed. “So I spent most of the time I could have held her working to save up to give her things in a few years, that she was too young to even understand. And not I’m here, not even able to go back to hold her, because it would put her in danger.”

 “Now...I’m not even good for money, if I returned to live in Tunisia. It’s better this way. This way, at least every pound I make translates to almost 3.70 Tunisian Dinar, and Rafika and my father can afford things like private school and tutoring, and extra after school activities, and nice vacations for Sabiha.” Reza swallowed hard, forcing his eyes to not water.

 They weren’t allowed. He didn’t want Rory’s sympathy. Only for her to believe he didn’t just abandon his child.

 “My daughter having a better life than I did is all I have ever wanted. And if all I can ever be for her is the reason that the money is available for that? Then that’s how it has to be. I sacrifice my happiness for hers and my father’s every day that I am here, but knowing she will have opportunities that I didn’t is…” Reza trailed off, and just.

 Smiled.

 “Enough.”

 AURORA

 Aurora had been Reza’s apprentice for almost three months now. She learned something new every day, and was growing as a person and a sorceress as he continued to teach her.

 This was, without a doubt, the most important lesson Reza had ever given her. Or likely ever would.

 Aurora lifted her head as she listened to Reza explain, her eyes following him around the room as he told her about his daughter, their brief time together, and the life he was trying to provide for her - even hundreds and hundreds of miles away. It made her heart ache, every word painting more of the picture of his life, and she…

 Well, she didn’t know what she wanted to do.

 Once he finished, tears stubbornly refusing to fall from his eyes, Aurora didn’t say a word. She simply swung her legs over the edge of the bed, moving slowly as she stood upright. Once she was sure she wasn’t about to collapse from vertigo, Aurora crossed the room to his desk; her bare feet padding against the floor softly. There was no hesitation as she brought herself between his knees, stepping as close to the desk as she could as she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. Her hands fisted loosely in the back of his shirt as she pressed her cheek against his chest, staring at his shoulder as a few tears of her own rolled down her cheeks.

 (She wanted to tell him that he was so brave, willing to give his life for his daughter. She wanted to tell him that he was brilliant, working so hard to provide for her. She wanted to tell him that no matter how bad of a father he thought he was, he would never be a poorer parent than she was. She didn’t say any of that.)

 “You’re a wonderful father, Reza,” Aurora said softly. “No matter what you think. None of those decisions you made were easy, but you made them for her. I don’t think there’s a more honest and selfless way to love someone. One day, you’ll be able to see her again and tell her in person.”

 REZA

 Reza tensed up when he was hugged. It wasn’t the first time she’d hugged him, but she had just woken up from one of those narcolepsy naps, where there’s the vertigo, and the fucked perception of reality, and he was worried she’d stumble over -

 Oh, well she didn’t. And she seemed sturdy, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to return the hug just in case. He stopping hugging her back, but let his arm rest there.

 “I am not entirely sure I ever will, but when she is older, maybe she will understand me like I learned to understand my mother.” In time, Sabiha would.

 AURORA

 “You will,” Aurora said, her grip tightening for a moment and her eyebrows furrowing together with determination. She’d fly Sabiha and her mother out to Swynlake herself to visit, if she had to. She hugged him for a moment longer before slowly letting go, taking a small step back and not looking away from his chest as she wiped her eyes dry. Aurora laughed sheepishly.

 “Sorry, I… shouldn’t have hugged you like that,” she murmured, only meeting his eyes for a moment before glancing away. “Thank you, for telling me. For trusting me with all that.” When she met his eyes again, Aurora had a small, soft smile on her lips, even if there was still a pesky tear or two rolling down her cheeks.

 REZA

 “Right..no apology needed, but you’re not to ask me questions about any of that uninvited. I’ll talk about it when I want to and not a moment sooner or later,” Reza said, stern, but with a thin smile.

 The warning was more of a warning to not expect him to want to talk about it on demand, than an absolute ban on the subject.

 “Go home and rest, Aurora. We can work on collecting reagents tomorrow.”

[noonmutter]

Consummation

Terry was conscripted. Dwyn did not, by some miracle, destroy anyone, burn down Duskwood, or follow him.

That did not, of course, mean she did nothing.

     The morning after the Siege of Lordaeron, Darlain gets a note and a glass globe from a frazzled courier.

If you'd like to take a break from the gloom and doom to do one of your favorite things, finish what you're doing, brace yourself, and crush the globe underfoot. ~Shedwyn M. Lias PS: Please come ASAP, there's a line and I really want you to be here PPS: PLEASE WEAR PROPER SHOES FOR GLASS BREAKING, NO SLIPPERS

    Darlain was exhausted, so it takes her more time than usual to connect the dots on just what was happening. As soon as she freshens herself up, she hurriedly throws on her boots, which sadly didn't match her robes, but... she wasn't going to miss this! She crushed the globe beneath her feet.

    A flash of arcane, a little vertigo, and she appears before a tiny arcanist who is fidgeting so much from anxiety that she might as well be vibrating. Shedwyn immediately reaches out to grab Darlain's shoulder, knowing that the globe is not her most stable of teleportation enchantments, but it's fast and user friendly. "You made it!"

    She's looking a little frazzled, and she forgot that there were still a few bloodstains on her robes from the healing, but Darlain fumbles about, stabilizing before falling into Shedwyn. "Whew, may need ya tae send me back when it's done, but no way I was gonna miss this! Ye are gettin married, yes?"

    "They haven't told me he's dead, so I assume so!"

    Dwyn is new to the place, but Darlain has probably seen enough of these setups to recognize a quickly-assembled military altar, using one of the barrack buildings just off the Stormwind harbor. A line of men and women, all looking either nervous, happy, morose, or a blend of the three stand on one side of the room where bunks used to be, and an Alliance chaplain in half-plate and lovely blue-and-gold-trimmed robes smiles brightly as he approaches Dwyn and Dar.

    "You'd be the one I'm making an exception for, I suppose? Bit of flash for anything else."

    Dar looks to Shedwyn, a little confused. "Exception?"

    Shedwyn shrugs sheepishly. "I figured you'd want to be the one to marry us." She holds out a fairly simple handfasting cord--a single large cord made by braiding together three smaller purple, green, and sky-blue cords.

    The chaplain nods, then pushes a bit of overlong blonde hair out of his face. "I'm happy to stand aside if you're willing to do the honors for her. She was... quite adamant." That's a slightly exasperated, but mostly jovial grin on him as he eyes Dwyn.

    Darlain smiles. "Sorry, we're old friends, and I am a priestess. I'll try to keep things quick, looks like... you have your hands full, chaplain."

    The smile takes on a bit more of a somber tinge at the corners and he nods down at the dwarf. "Times of war keep us very busy, as I'm sure you know. I'd much rather this procession be the busy one than the one from yesterday, though." He adjusts his sleeves and glances back at the line a moment, then returns his attention to the pair. "I did receive word a few minutes ago that your young man is lined up, so all you need to do now is wait a bit longer. Please excuse me, I've got other couples to tend to!"

    And off he bustles to perform what is probably the hundredth short marriage of the day, in full sincerity and with all the genuine happiness he can offer them. ... And the 101st... and the 102nd...

    That little bit of news, that Terry is alive and right outside, is enough to change Shedwyn's fidgeting from anxious to excited. "I am sorry about the short notice, I... didn't really expect them to accept without a fight. They didn't exactly take him away under the most voluntary of terms."

    "I 'eard about that...  I... dinnae thnk I can do anything other than lean on some folks, but... we did a lot o' that to get 'im out o' prison..." She frowns, but shakes her head and gives Dwyn a smile as she changes the subject. "Ehh, kinnae do anything about that... so... any ideas, got rings, any traditions you want me tae practice?"

    "Well... He's got his ring, and I've got this," she holds up a twisted metal band. Not gold, possibly not even silver. "But it's all so rushed, and I want to do this right even if I can't do it right right now, so... Do you know what a Year And A Day handfasting is?"

    The current pair at the altar throw their arms around one another and laugh aloud once, then again much more quietly, embarrassed by the first, before quickly seeing themselves out.

    "I... isnae that an engagement custom?" She's wracking her brain to old weddings she had to officiate to remember the details.

    "Nnn- sort of? It's like a trial-run of a marriage. Or a subscription marriage, if you do it repeatedly. You're married, but it only lasts a year, and then you can choose to bail or not."

    "Hehe...more folks could do with tha, I think." She looks at the weaving, "Is this the end o' the weave, or the beginnin’, then?"

    "It's... The beginning?" Shedwyn rubs at her forehead. "Ah, I'm sorry, I just started looking this nonsense up and I don't know it yet. But really, whatever we do, as long as it's framed right, that's all that matters, right?"

    What fantastic timing for hers truly to step through the door. Maybe it's just a trick of the light, but it seems almost like the two of them could see Terry’s eyes bug out from their end of the hall. Apparently, nobody told him what was going on.

    Still in full mail and wearing his Stormwind tabard, sans all weapons save his boot knife, Terry cuts a pretty decent figure, actually. The squared-off goatee works much better when he's trying to look like a professional from head to toe.

    The chaplain gestures for him to come up to the altar, and turns the same hand to invite Dwyn and Darlain.

    "Alright, I think I can wing it." Dar looks at them both and smiles, "Shall we?"

    Shedwyn is grinning like a damned looney as she scurries to the front.

    All Terry can think to say right at first is a strangled "Dwyn?" as he comes to a stop beside her, and the chaplain chuckles to himself and steps down to take a much-needed tea break.

    Shed hands off the cord to Darlain and holds a hand out for Terry to take. The tiny mage manages to rein in her grin long enough to ask Terry, "Are you alright? Is this alright? I didn't get the chance to ask first, they couldn't even tell me if you were alive..."

    Darlain allows them to talk it over for a moment by taking her time preparing, adjusting little things and mostly acting busy, as well as pretending to jot things down in her notebook.

    He takes her hand almost entirely on reflex, brushing his thumb across her fingers and watching her face while she talks. Once the initial shock is done he's able to actually process what he's hearing, and laughs weakly. "Babygirl, th'only reason I 'aven't already kissed you is cuz I'm pretty sure she 'as t'tell me to first." He nods toward Dar.

    Shedwyn surprises herself by only huffing out a little laugh instead of the hysterical giggling that feels like it's sitting in her chest. "Heh. Good. We're rushing things too much as it is without jumping the gun during the actual ceremony."

    Dar takes a deep breath, and stands before the two. She reaches out for the half woven band, smiling at Shedwyn as she politely requests to take it.

    Shedwyn lets go of Terry's hand only so long as it takes to quickly remove her ring, and encourage him to remove his and hand it to Dar.

    Takes him a second to follow, but his eyes go a little wild again before he complies, handing Dar the understated gold signet ring with the 'A' on it.

    Shedwyn's is a simple wire rose, something she probably twisted together in five minutes right after she decided to do this.

    Darlain takes the rings, and the purple, green, and sky-blue woven cords, then smiles at the two. "Folks, we're gathered today tae witness the marriage o' these two lovely souls. Who, like many o' you all, are facing a 'ard time, and deciding tae face it as one."

    Terry's not sure whether to look at Darlain or Dwyn, but settles on Dwyn after a bit of indecision. He's still listening, of course, but it's very easy for him to stare at Dwyn.

    Dwyn glances back and forth between Dar and Terry for a minute, before she realises he's staring. She looks at their shoes a moment, flustered, before she can look at him.

    "Now, marriage is a tricky thing, and it’s something that'll test ya. As someone who's been at it fer awhile, my advice, is that there's three keys tae a successful marriage."

    Darlain holds up the loose, unwoven end of the cord, "Love." She holds up the purple strand. "More than just an attraction, it's a shared desire. A want to 'ave that person in yer life, an investment in their future, and in a shared future."  

    She holds up the green strand. "Kindness. We all make mistakes in life, we aren't always our best, but to look upon your partner with kindness, to empathize and support them, and to know they'll do the same? That's a lovely foundation, and, frankly, the very first spark of these two began with kindness."  

    She holds up the sky-blue strand. "Finally, there's trust. It’s the easiest to break, true, but it's something you need tae 'ave in yer partner. Trust that when the going gets tough, they'll see it through, that when you 'ave doubts, they'll 'elp tae break them. Counting on each other, that's trust, and sometimes it can be 'ard tae trust yerself, let alone another.

    “You kin 'ave a relationship with any of these three things, but…” She slips her fingers through the strands. "It can be easy to drift apart without all three."

    Dar looks at the two of them. "Do y'all 'ave any vows tae share with each other?" she asks, offering them their rings with outstretched palms.

    Dwyn reaches for the gold band first. "Yes."

    Terry doesn't have time to do anything but blink, hand half-raised and immediately dropping back to his side when Dwyn beats him to it.

    Shedwyn holds up the ring, but doesn't slide it on his finger, waiting for him to do it himself. He should know why.

    "Terry... Vowing to keep you 'til death do us part' is pointless. It has tried and failed. Repeatedly. However, there's a tradition in the Gilnean Highlands, an old one, one of a year and a day. Bride and groom are married for a year and a day, and at the end they can choose to leave, do it again, or make it permanent. So I vow to keep you not 'til death do us part, but for another year and a day. And when that day comes, we'll do this again. And we'll do it right.

    "And everyone we love will be there."

    There's a bit of a pause where he's not sure whether he should or shouldn't, but after a moment, he takes the ring from her hand and delicately slips it back on his finger (which has already got a bit of a tan line where it sits). He's hesitant, easy enough to guess why, but she can see it: he's trying desperately not to cry.

    When he opens his mouth, his voice is almost inaudibly quiet, but it gains as he goes. "You steal ev'rythin' from me. I was gonna--" Frowning slightly, Terry clears his throat and starts over. "I was going to give you as grand a speech as I could manage, but you've already stolen my idea, clean out from under my home soil."

    He glances almost nervously at Darlain for a second before he continues. "I would willingly give you anything if you asked, but it delights you so to take it, and surprise me with what you might do with such disused things as my heart, my soul. I will gladly let you take everything from me again, and again, and again."

    With that, he picks up her ring, and offers it to her.

    Shedwyn has the decency to look sheepish at the accusation of 'stealing,' but as he goes on she's right back to being about to cry. She slips the ring on one-handed and wipes at her eyes, then looks to Darlain.

    Darlain smiles at the two, and then grabs both of their hands, gently entwining them together. She then takes the woven part of the cord, and loops it around their hands in an infinity loop. "Love, Kindness, Trust. You keep building those this year and a day, and you're gonna 'ave a strong bond, one that isnae easy to break." She pauses for a moment, letting the moment settle. "I declare ya both man and wife.” Her grin widens. “Now you two can get to the fun part."

    From the gallery, amongst the witnesses and people waiting their turn, an enthusiastic clapping can be heard. It is coming from a man in purple and silver-lined wizard armor, with long gray hair and a smile on his face. At his side, his pack bulges as something inside seems to want out. "Beautiful, just beautiful! It's everything I was told!"

    Terry ... just... turns... and stares.

    Shedwyn bounces, pulls Terry down by his collar, and... pauses as the clapping starts. She turns to look at the too-familiar voice, belonging to a man with too-familiar eyes. Her expression blanks upon recognizing them, and then she glares.

    Darlain is very confused.

    Terry looks back at Darlain and mouths 'What?' in utter confusion.

    "Ah, I'm so glad I got to see this. Shedwyn, congratulations. And Darlain, a lovely ceremony as always." The man's bag bursts open, releasing a skull coated in arcane energy.

    "UGH! Finally, it's so stuffy in there. Hey Sugartits, lookin' good in that wedding gown!" Bob declares in his typical fashion.

    "Janosis?! What the fel happened to you?"

    The chaplain looks up at all the commotion and furrows his brow just a little. "Language, sir. This is a house of the Light."

    Terry is switching very rapidly from puzzled to irritated. "What th' flyin' f--"

    "Bob, behave or I'll let her at you with a hammer," the old man scolds, before turning back to the group at the altar. "Nothing terrible, but also a hell of a lot. Greetings from the world of tomorrow, old friends. Sorry for interrupting, I just found myself overwhelmed."

    "Right! Let’s step aside, thank you, chaplain!"

    It's suddenly clear that if Dar hadn't said that, the chaplain was preparing to have his burly buddies by the door carry them out. He looks almost apologetically at Terry. "You're granted one hour, private. I recommend not wasting it."

    Dwyn, still silent, grabs Terry's hand and with a very determined look, again tries to pull him him for a kiss.

    Terry makes a slightly undignified 'urmph' noise as he's pulled down, but doesn't resist and after a second moves to dip his new wife properly.

    "Oh! But I wouldn't show up to a wedding without a gift," Janosis declares while the couple kiss, pulling a wrapped box out of his satchel and waiting patiently.

    Shedwyn is unnecessarily dusting herself off as soon as she's back on her feet. "Alright, let's take this show outside." She points at Bob and 'Janosis.' "You two as well, but you'd better be quick - your explanation can wait until I'm not on my honeymoon."

    "Of course."

    "Light, nothin’ is ever easy, ever." She looks over Janosis. "Least you turned out okay... from the looks of it."

    Terry is ...not precisely happy to get moving, but he does lead Shedwyn out of the temporary church so the chaplain can take his spot back and get the line moving again. “Outside, b'fore I get bloody well pinned with somethin' fer this."

    "Before your hour's up, you should open the gift. It is for the both of you, after all.”

    Dwyn marches stolidly in step with Terry (though his pace is nearly a run for her). She tries to snag the gift on their way past, but does wait until they're outside to open it if she successfully grabs it.

    Terry's interest in a wedding gift is pretty negligible just now, so he's willing to let Dwyn take care of it. He is, for some wacky reason, a little agitated.

    Darlain keeps up with the group, is terribly concerned by what is going on. Magic is strange and things often don’t go well™ with its shenanigans.

    Shedwyn carefully opens the wrapped box. Not careful to the point of saving the wrapping paper, but careful to the point one might expect it to contain live snakes.

    WIthin the wrapping, a simple wooden box. Within the box, lying on the felt lining, a glittering violet shard, brimming softly with arcane power.

    "My gift to you on your wedding day is the most precious thing I could think of. Hold each other���s hands and crush the crystal, and the spell within will grant you a day for just the two of you. Everything else will stop, and when it ends you'll be back where you started, memories intact."

    Janosis looks around conspiratorially. "Also don't tell any Bronze dragons you saw this, it's a little bit illegal,” he says with a wink.

    It's very hard for Terry to reconcile being angry at his surprise wedding/honeymoon being interrupted with being legitimately touched by a gift from a guy he used to view as a threat to his relationship.

    Shedwyn draws in a soft gasp.  "This is really dangerous to make, and... incredibly thoughtful, right now." She carefully hands the box to Terry, and unless the other mage dodges, she thuds into him for a tight hug.

    Terry's hair actually stands up just a little bit when he takes the box, but he doesn't complain.

    Darlain actually goes, "Awwww."

    Janosis holds Shedwyn fondly, with a smile on his face. "I have learned that few things are as valuable as time. Enjoy it, and when you're back, I'll explain what I can."

    "Thank you. I don't know what's going on with you, but thank you."

    Terry stifles a sigh before saying, "Thank you."

    Janosis pulls away, hands lingering on Shedwyn's arms as he regards her. "It's me, so it's terrifying and wonderful. Now go enjoy yourself," he says, releasing her.

    Stifling a little laugh at that, she nods and steps back towards Terry. "Can you take Darlain home? Or... Back to work?"

    "Hm, you know, I'm not sure. Portals have always been tricky for me." He grins.

    "Mate, th' present's real thoughtful an' all, but if you don't leave right now I'm gonna punt you off th' nearest pier."

    "You would certainly try,” he says. “Darlain, may I?" He turns to the priestess and extends his hand.

    Shedwyn facepalms, but makes a small ‘go on’ gesture with her free hand.

    "...I guess you may." She takes his hand. "And congrats, you two! So ‘appy fer ya, 'ave a fun day!"

    "Quite. Thank you, Darlain."

    "Yer a gem, Darlain."

    "Next stop, Ironforge!" Janosis declares, gesturing with his hand to form an arcane sigil beneath their feet. A portal opens showing the temple in Ironforge before the portal moves past/through the pair, placing them in Ironforge safely before closing.

    Terry looks down at Dwyn once they're gone. "...I was gonna pick you up an' carry you off t'th' park, but tha' sorta put a damper on that idea. Thoughts?"

    Shedwyn takes the box from Terry's hands. "Nope, you're still carrying me. D'you still have that room from working for the Dragoons?"

    "I think so." He bends down and scoops her up, well aware that sack-o-potatoes carries are bad when the potato sack is pregnant, and kisses her again. "If not, somebody's gonna be real upset when we push 'em out."

    "Mmhmm."

( @shedwyn @darbiebot @janosis )